Watch Me Spin
by Merith
Summary: Duo has issues giving up control and letting others get close enough for more than a one-night stand. He seeks the help of a sex therapist, and finds Heero. AU, written in February 2005.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Watch Me Spin, Pairing: Heero/Duo, Quatre/Trowa  
Warning: AU, sex, language, Duo POV, angst

Author Note: This story was written in January and February 2005, and sort of took over my life for a couple of weeks. This story so matches this 80s request Kanzanhanzai made. Behind the Wheel lyrics. Enjoy!

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**Watch Me Spin**

**Chapter 1**

I was fucked.

My story should be simple, but of course, being me, it wasn't. Blame it on Murphy, blame it on fate, say whatever you wanted, but the end result was the same - I was fucked.

And it was all my best friend Quatre's fault.

It had started simply enough during one of our twice-monthly-meet-me-at-the-bar nights, and us talking about my never ending search to find the perfect partner. Quatre already had his, and believed it his right to lend a hand in finding mine.

"It's because you don't bottom," he told me and I nearly spit my drink in his face.

"What's that got to do with anything?" I demanded, wiping off my chin.

Quatre gave me one of those looks that's half soulful, and half I'm going to kick your ass into next week. "No one likes to be dominated, and you exude it."

I only snorted and looked away, waving for Eric to come pour me another. "You're a top, and Trowa's still with you." The silence hung between us far longer than it should have. When I turned back, he was drawing circles on the bar in the condensation from his glass. "You two didn't break up and not tell me, did you?" I finally asked.

"No!" Quatre looked startled. "Actually, I was thinking of recommending that you go see someone." His cheeks colored a pretty pink - which looks great on some young girls, but looked horribly wrong on my friend. "He's a specialist and can help you overcome your fear of being a bottom."

My lip curled. "What? Go to some guy who'll... what? Fuck me?"

"It's not that bad, really." Quatre glanced around the bar, and leaned closer to me. "I went to him myself. When Trowa and I were having trouble."

That was new. "You and Tro were having trouble?"

He waved a hand impatiently. "Yes, but that's not what we're talking about. This counselor, he'll help you with your need to dominate. He works with you to relax and accept what's happening."

I was already shaking my head. "Fuck that. I'm a top, and that's the way it's going to stay." I took a drink and changed the subject. "How's Mena these days?" Quatre's face lit up; he loved to talk about his sisters, and the guy's got enough of â€˜em. We were on the third one when I tossed out, "you let Trowa top you?"

Quatre did that pink cheek thing again, and told me, "Yes, I did." He made a show of looking at his watch and stood up abruptly. "Shit! I was supposed to meet Trowa ten minutes ago."

Yeah, sure you were buddy. But I let it go. "Since when do you cuss?" I asked, wanting to laugh my ass off at the thought. Growing up with twenty-something women can really warp a guy.

He had his wallet in hand, pulling out a bill. "You don't have the monopoly on swearing, Duo. As much as you'd like to believe. Hey Eric," he called out, slapping his money on the counter. "This should cover what we drank, and anything more this lush might have tonight. The rest is yours."

I glared at him. "Fuck you, Quatre. I pay for my own drinks." He was laughing his happy ass out the door. Shit. The guy was a total top, no matter what he said or who he let fuck him.

Eric was there, picking up the hundred and Quatre's empty glass. "How's it going, Duo? Haven't seen much of you in here lately."

"S'kay," I mumbled, turning the glass between my fingers. Eric and I had a thing a few months back - a one night thing, but I had the idea if I gave him a sign, he'd jump at the chance again. I wound up giving him a smile and asked for another drink, not really needing one, but just for something to do. While he was gone, I checked out the bar.

Once, in my not so distant past, this was my hangout. I knew everyone who circled here, the hunters and the prey. When the feeding ground got scarce, I moved on, only I didn't. I just stopped hunting. Though, at the end of the bar, there was a guy watching me. I pretended not to notice and accepted the glass Eric handed me.

"Hey listen," I leaned closer. "See that guy on the end?" Eric shot him a quick glance and nodded. "Use some of my tab money and get him a refill for me."

"But he's not..." Eric protested. He stopped abruptly. "Very good, sir." And he actually smirked.

I watched surreptitiously as Eric mixed and served the tall blond his drink. I could tell he asked the bartender a couple of questions and Eric was smiling as he answered. The guy looked at me, a bit surprised, I thought. I gave him a smile and lifted a brow. He winked. An invitation as I'd ever seen one, I stood up, grabbed my drink and went to introduce myself.

The man was gorgeous. Tall, lean with broad shoulders, and long legs, he had hair to rival my own. Blond to almost white cascaded straight down his back - too bad it wasn't as long as mine. A face that'd launch a thousand ships, and a thick, pouty mouth deserving nothing but the best of kisses. What a walking, fucking, wet dream.

Too bad he was straight. Turned out he wasn't winking at me, but his contact chose that moment to act up. I stuck around anyway, lending him a hand and a couple of napkins. We had a bit of a laugh, even if it was at my expense, and spent the next hour shooting the shit. When his girlfriend showed up, things really got good.

Zechs - yeah, that was the guy's name - told her what'd happened, and after she stopped laughing, she told me her man had this thing for long hair on guys. That seemed weird to me, cause she had some of the shortest hair I'd ever seen on a woman. She asked if there was anyway I'd let my hair loose, just to show and I balked. No one gets that close. Neither of them seemed to mind my reluctance.

They took me back to their place, and she cooked the best fucking Italian food I'd ever had. She even made her own noodles! And the wine! Shit, I was in heaven. I neared the end of my second serving, when I looked up at Lu.

"If you were male, girl, I'd fight this guy for you," I told her, waving my garlic bread in the air.

While Zechs only laughed, his girlfriend looked me over. "If you were male, I'd kick his ass to the curb."

Even though I laughed, it bruised a bit. "I might prefer my tits flat as they make â€˜em, and my plumbing to be external, but I'm all male," I said, probably a bit too loud - after all, I'd been drinking steadily for the past four or five hours. "I'm a top." I said it as proudly as I could.

Sexy Zechsy was clearing the table by this time, and paused to frown at me. He shot a glance at the woman, and her eyes never left my face. "You're afraid to let anyone in."

Great. Just my luck to meet up with a couple of armchair psychiatrists. Lu and I, and to some extent, Zechs, spent the next hour tossing arguments back and forth as to why I didn't bottom. Like I needed in-depth psycho-babble from strangers. Zechs finally ended it by saying it didn't matter who penetrated, it was the idea behind being penetrated, and I wasn't in the position to let that happen.

The rest of the night we talked a bit about our lives, as new friends did. Funniest fucking thing ever, turns out Zechs was an exiled prince from some dinky European country and while not quite as rich as Bill Gates, he didn't have to work for a living. But he did, and for the same publishing company as Lu did. Before the night was done, I was pretty sloshed. And they let me crash on their couch. At least, that's what they let me believe; I'd passed out in the middle of discussing international politics, and they couldn't wake me. Someone removed my shoes, and covered me with a blanket.

The best part of it all, I didn't have a hangover in the morning.

I left their apartment before either woke, leaving a brief note of apology on the kitchen counter. A quick cab ride to my apartment, a shower, another cab and I was at work more or less on time. Some time later that afternoon, Lu's words came back to haunt me, and I thought them over. For about five seconds and forgot about it.

Over the next month, nothing new seemed to happen. I wasn't getting laid, but wasn't too terribly unhappy about it. Maybe I was getting old, but the one-night jollies weren't doing it for me any more. I had dinner with Zechs and Lu a couple of times, and we even caught a sports game together. Never having been to a Lacrosse game before, I was a bit lost as to the rules of the game, but enjoyed the roughness. Sort of like hockey without the ice.

My drink nights with Quatre continued, and I met up with both he and Trowa on more than one occasion. We usually met once a week or so for dinner or lunch. And one Friday night, almost a month after Quatre first brought up the subject, I was having dinner at their house.

Quatre hadn't gotten off work yet, and I was in the kitchen helping Trowa with the meal. He'd set me to chopping up the lettuce for salad. At least, I was chopping the lettuce for salad, Tro preferred to have each leaf ripped to bite-size pieces and believes a knife kills all taste in lettuce. But he let me do what I wanted, it was my task, so I did it my way.

"You should go to the gym with me tomorrow," Trowa was saying.

Tossing the diced tomatoes in the bowl, I glanced at him. "You know I go to the best gym in San Francisco."

He was shuffling one of those light saute pans around over a burner. "There's a guy I think you should meet."

I couldn't help shaking my head. "You're not setting me up, man. I hate that shit." So what if my knife attacked the cucumber a little more vigorously than what it should have.

"I'm just inviting you to the gym, Duo. I'm not setting you up." He spared a moment to glare at me. "Though if you two hit it off, so much the better." I smacked his ass with a hand towel.

"Hey!" Quatre called from the doorway. "No one touches that but me." He grinned and loosened his tie. Shit, he looked tired.

"When you going to work normal hours?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"These are." He came into the kitchen far enough to give Trowa a kiss, dip a finger in a sauce pot and scoot out before Trowa could swat him. "I'm going to grab a quick shower." And he was gone.

I went back to chopping vegetables. Here was another Murphy's Law story for ya. Quatre was probably my oldest friend. We'd known one another since the first day our freshman year at the university. I was supposed to room with a guy I knew from high school, but he flaked out over the summer, and I was stuck with some unknown foreign guy. Turned out to be one of the best things that happened to me.

Quatre and I had this instant like going on from the start. We didn't share classes, but spent a lot of time in between together. Fuck, we even tried dating, kissing, and even screwing one another. It wasn't working. He was a top. I was a top and neither wanted to give. We settled by remaining friends and fighting over lovers like all good roommates did.

At least until he spotted Trowa. We were out of college by then, and I was off doing my thing in my own little world trying to become successful. He was already successful in the family biz, but needed to prove his worth all the same. Trowa was still working his way up in his chosen profession.

To hear Quatre tell their story, it was like a fairy-tale. He'd gotten lost on his way back from a downtown office meeting and decided to grab dinner at some hole-in-the-wall bistro. The meal made such an impression on him that he had to personally thank the chef. When Trowa stepped out from the kitchen, sparks flew and the rest - as that guy always says - was history. They hadn't separated since. Shit, they barely come up for air when they're in the same room. Gets so a guy can't breathe with them around, you know?

So, there I was, still sort of stewing over the unfairness of it all. I mean, why couldn't I have been the one lost in the city - not that that would ever happen - but you know, I really wanted to find my Trowa as well. Just watching them, I felt the jealousy simmer. It wasn't like I wanted them separated, to be miserable. Shit, they were made for one another, you could just see the connection between them. They had these shared looks that made everyone else around them obsolete, almost like they'd just had sex without touching.

And I wanted it.

"How's your hunt for Mister Perfect going?" Quatre asked, spooning out more tamuli.

I finished chewing the veal in my mouth, glaring at him. "Just fucking fine, asshole."

He only laughed. Why is it my friends can find humor in my predicaments? "Speaking of assholes, lose your cherry yet?"

Between Trowa choking, and me spewing wine all over the tablecloth, I thought Quatre would have fallen over in his chair. "What is it with you? Since when did my sexual position preference became an acceptable topic of discussion?"

"Since you mope about it all the time?" Quatre supplied, sobering up quickly. I started to protest, or at least I meant to but he beat me to it. "It's not just being a top or being a bottom, it's being able to let someone inside enough to let them be close." I decimated the veal flank on my plate. "Truthfully, Duo, I only want to see you happy. You spend too much time with us, at work or with your other friends."

How do you tell your best friend you can't be happy because he's stolen more than his share? I frowned at my plate, no longer hungry. "It's easy to say that, coming from you. You and Trowa have it all." I hadn't really meant to say it aloud, but too late now.

"Duo..." Quatre started.

"That's not true," Trowa's quiet voice interrupted, and drew my immediate attention. He laid down his fork, and looked from me to Quatre before staring me down. "We've had a lot of problems, and there have been times we didn't think we would make it." I swallowed hard, and as Quatre's hand picked Trowa's up off the table, I wanted to look away, but wasn't able to.

"What Quatre has been trying to tell you, is that even if you do find the perfect bottom," his cheeks colored, but he didn't drop his eyes. "It's not going to be heaven on earth. Even as close as we are, we have fights."

Shit. Talk about making a guy feel bad. "So, what do I do to join you two on this roller coaster of happiness?"

They shared one of those looks again, and both spoke at the same time.

"Come to the gym with me."

"Go see the counselor I was telling you about."

"No, but thanks anyway." I rose and started clearing the table. "I don't need to meet some guy just as desperate as me, and I certainly don't need to see some fuck shrink." Stomping wasn't exactly my style, but I thought I managed to make it into something that didn't look too teenage-miff. Quatre was lucky I didn't break a plate scraping them clean.

"Duo," Quatre said from the doorway, carrying a double handful of dishes. I continued to load the dishwasher, and he piled the sink full. "You know we don't mean to pry or tell you what to do, right?"

I sighed and grabbed a dishtowel. "Yeah, Quat, I know."

He rinsed and handed stuff for me to load. "I know you feel... uncomfortable around Trowa and I sometimes." He smiled fleetingly at me. "We just want you to know what we know, share what we share."

"And you think by me becoming a bottom will do this?" I actually laughed.

The fact he chuckled made me believe he knew how stupid it sounded. "I think it's not so much becoming a bottom, but more becoming willing to offer something more of yourself." His eyes held such a pleading quality I could only stare at him. When I stopped loading dishes, he pushed me out of the way, shoving me towards the livingroom. "Go keep Trowa company. I'll finish up in here."

Trowa stood at the entertainment center, queuing music when I walked in. The drapes covering their wall of glass were pulled open to show the view of the city, and I plopped down on the couch watching the winking lights. Having money had some advantages; living in a high-rise apartment on prime real-estate, would be one of them.

Trowa sat on the end of the couch, and pushed me over, pulling my sock-clad feet up into his lap. It'd become a tradition of sorts, for one or the other to rub feet. In the early stages of Quat's and his relationship, it'd just been the two of us waiting for the guy and I complained about my aching feet. It wasn't until after I told Trowa what I did that he asked me to show him how to do it, and ever since, we'd trade off.

I had to admit, he learned well. He was on my other arch, and I lay there making sounds that shouldn't come from me outside a bedroom, when Quatre pulled my head into his lap -sort of. He was sitting on the arm of the couch, his legs spread to either side of me, so I mainly lay on his stomach. He was running his fingers up along my hairline, circling my temples and dragging nails over my scalp. The double assault was doing some interesting things to my libido.

Like putty, I melted into Quatre's caresses, and didn't even jerk when Trowa's hands traveled up past my ankles to knead calves. Somewhere between clouds six and seven, Quatre kissed me. By that time, I was so lost to sensation, I was kissing him back. My arm had come up to circle his neck; my mouth opened to let his tongue in. Damn, I'd forgotten what a great kisser he was. Trowa's hands were at my thighs.

Quatre broke away, his fingers still caressing my skin, his lips ghosting over my face. Parts of me were humming, wanting more; parts of me were dancing in anticipation.

"Let me top you," Quatre whispered against my temple.

I thought it wasn't so much what he said as it was a combination of what exactly Trowa's hands were now touching and oxygen actually reaching my brain. Just what the fuck did I think I was doing? I threw myself to the floor, nearly whacking my head on the coffee table in the process.

"I take that as a no, then," Quatre said leaning over the couch.

"What the fuck is going on?" I demanded. "Did you like, lose brain-cells somewhere or what?"

And if those two didn't share another one of those fucking looks. Trowa sat forward, his arms braced on his knees. "Look, Duo, Quatre and I have talked about this more than once and we're both okay with it. Sharing our life, what we have with you, helping you to open up to someone." He gave me a smile and for a minute, I almost lost whatever sense was left in my head.

Instead, I pushed backward, farther from him. I looked from one to the other, feeling a little wild, a little bewildered. What the hell had happened, and where did my friends go?

"We thought," Quatre continued the narrative, sliding down the arm to sit on a cushion. "That you'd feel more comfortable with friends. People you knew and were comfortable with already. Someone you trusted."

"You?" I spat out, blinking the haze from my eyes.

Quatre nodded, making no apologies. "You're so locked away. And, we thought this could help you."

Suddenly it was too much. I jumped to my feet and was half way to the door before they even realized I'd moved. "Well, thanks for the offer, but like I told you once before, buddy, it's not going to happen." I shoved my feet into my shoes, not bothering to tie the laces and grabbed my windbreaker.

"Duo, wait." Quatre was at the door when I opened it. He put his hand on my arm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have presumed." I only nodded. It was too much to think about. "Just, call me tomorrow, okay? We'll talk and I promise to never speak of this again."

I let him kiss my cheek and turned away without saying anything more. Something burned inside, and a stinging around the corners of my eyes happened. I stopped a half block from their apartment building to tie my shoes. It wasn't me who had the problem. I could let people in, let someone get close. Hell, ask anyone. I had more friends than could be housed at an average high school stadium. I knew more people personally from all over the country than most folks could claim meeting in their life.

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	2. Chapter 2

Warnings and notes on the first chapter. Added note for this chapter: Duo seeks another man's attention (an OC).

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**Watch Me Spin**

**Chapter 2**

As usual for San Fran in the spring, the wind was chilled. I zipped my jacket and set off, not sure where I was headed. Going home didn't hold any appeal, and hitting the bars was just too depressing. Most of those I used to run with, that at one time I knew so well, had long ago settled down. Some gave in to a more mature age, and others found their 'Trowa'. I stopped and closed my eyes. Someone bumped into my back, muttered a curse, and stepped around me.

Fuck me. I'd known Quatre for over ten years. Ten fucking years and he knew more about me than anyone living. But he didn't know where I'd been born. He didn't know where I was raised; didn't know how I got the scar on the back of my right thigh. He didn't know that I'd once fallen from a water tower, and was unconscious in the hospital for three days. Didn't know I wet the bed until I was eight, too scared to get up to take a piss.

So, how the hell would he know I couldn't let anyone close?

I must have glared at a dozen people over the next two blocks before I got a grip. What the fuck did they mean I'd feel more comfortable with friends? Now thanks to their brilliant plan, I wasn't going to be comfortable being within a mile of either one of them. Let Quatre top me, fuck that! He knew, and still he let that happen. He knew no one tops me. Why, just fucking tell me why, Quatre. Because I sure the hell hadn't got it.

Somewhere around Ninth and Davenport I leaned against a brick wall. The fog had rolled in, and the air was damp, sounds were muted in that odd distance sort of way. Now that I was finished sulking, I guess I could admit that maybe Quatre thought he was doing something right. I mean, I knew the guy loved me like the buddy he was, but shit. I felt like punching a wall. What the fuck. I didn't think I'd become so desperate that I'd want to be a part of them, that I'd be willing to settle for the crumbs of what they had.

I watched as a man and woman exited some club across the street. She staggered slightly, and laughed at him when he pulled her close and held her steady. Under a street light they kissed. It'd been a long time since I'd been with anyone. Kissing Quatre had been the first this year, and the last time I'd gotten laid... had it really been over a year? Fuck.

That last time now, it'd been some guy only in town for a few days. We met at the bar in his hotel, went up to his room, and I was gone a couple hours later. Before him, it'd been Eric. A colossal mistake. I knew better than allowing myself to get drunk to the point of going home with just anyone. But it'd been a bad night, and Eric looked so fucking cute in those black pants and tee shirt. I ran a hand over my eyes. After I cleaned up, he'd offered to make me breakfast in the morning and I was out of his place so fast I hadn't even buttoned up my fly all the way.

And that scared me. I couldn't remember one time I'd stayed the night, the whole night with anyone. I always woke in my own bed, alone. In high school, there'd only been a couple guys, meeting on the sly when someone's parents were out of town and no one else home. In college, there'd been too many parties, too many partners. Other than Quatre, there'd been this one guy I actually dated for awhile. I pursued him, and we fucked. He decided he wasn't gay and it must have been a phase he was going through. It hadn't sweated me, though, because after hanging around him for three weeks, listening to him prattle on about the most inane things, I wondered at my own sanity.

Work and dating was out. I don't play where my livelihood came from. And for great chunks of the year, work took a good portion of my time. No one outside the business understood and even those inside the business had a hard time of it relationship-wise. That didn't leave much else to chose from. Bars and night clubs were my hunting grounds, and only the very lucky found what they really wanted there.

In another month, I'd be twenty-nine, and I was still acting like I had at nineteen, with a few less partners being the only change. Shit. The thought that Quatre might be right churned my stomach. I wanted to believe it'd been lack of opportunity, looking in the wrong places, and hooking up with Mister Right-now - that someone to relieve the itch of the moment - than the fact that maybe I didn't want someone permanently in my life.

Shoving off from the wall, I continued to down the sidewalk. My being alone had to be not finding the right person, the one I wouldn't mind telling my past to, showing scars and trading stories. Being a top, being unwilling to bottom had nothing to do with it. It was just a sexual position, not a meaning in life. And that thought stopped me again.

If I believed it to be only a sexual position, then how come I couldn't switch?

I stopped at an all-night café around the corner from my apartment. Thirty-some blocks, and I hadn't found an answer. At least I was pretty sure I wasn't going to deck Quatre the next time I saw him. The shop was nearly empty, and I slid into a booth. Besides excellent coffee, they served good pie, and I was getting hungry.

The gal took my order, made some joke and went behind the counter. I watched her dish up a slice of apple pie, add a scoop of vanilla on the side and, with a carafe swinging from her arm, she brought my order to the table. "Just let me know if you need anything else." She gave me a wink and went off to check on other customers.

Apple pie ala-mode was the comfort food to end all comfort foods. And by the second bite, I'd forgotten all about Quatre, Trowa and the misguided plan. In fact, I was so lost to the smooth, cool taste of French vanilla chasing down apples and cinnamon, the man hovering at my table had to ask twice.

"You're Duo Maxwell, aren't you?" he repeated his question when I finally acknowledged him.

"I am," I answered, wiped off my chin and looked him over wondering how he knew me. He appeared older than me by roughly three to five years, stood taller, was a little broader, a bit softer, but still nice.

As if he noticed my attention, he blushed. It looked odd, but rather endearing. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I follow the Giants. Greg Wilson." He held out his hand and I shook it perfunctory. "I'm a sports writer for the Chronicle."

"I don't give interviews. They have to be scheduled through PR." Damn it to hell, and here I thought this could've went somewhere.

He was shaking his head. "I'm not here for an interview, though I'd like to get to know you better." His smile held not a trace of insecurity the blush had. Somehow that was more endearing.

Gesturing to the opposite bench with my fork, I offered, "Have a seat." I signaled to the waitress. "Pie? It's good and very fresh." I winked at him, lifting a forkfull. "I know for a fact the bakery on Tuscany supplies them."

"You've sold me," his voice dropped a couple octaves. He grabbed my fork hand and guided it to his mouth, his eyes locked on mine the entire time. Chewing and swallowing, he hadn't released my hand, not that I would have noticed. I was too busy watching his tongue and his lips. "It is good."

I had to blink a couple of times to focus. Shit, yeah. This guy was hot. And he was most definitely aggressive. "When it's in season, you can't find a better, tastier kumquat pie."

His brows rose and he smiled like he thought I was joking. "I'll take your word for it."

Our waitress, Nancy I thought her name was, brought Greg a cup and a slice. She offered to bring me another and I declined. I had a feeling I was going to want to be light as possible soon.

"So," I started, cutting out another bite of pie. "You write for the paper, you want to get to know me, and you like my pie." He paused, stirring creamer into his coffee. "Why?" His expression showed confusion, but he responded almost immediately.

"It's good. The apples are cut just the right size for a good bite. Not too sweet, not too tart. Spices mixed in the exact combination and the crust flaky without being too heavy."

I let him ramble on, a small hint of a smile playing on my lips. "Not that it's a secret, but how'd you find out?"

Still keeping with his contrived innocent commentary, he tossed out in all seriousness, "you told me." I snorted out a laugh and shook my head. His hand flashed out and caught mine. "There's been a rumor about you floating around for the past couple of years. Not that anyone cares, at least not in the press box. But one of these days when you make head coach, or even assistant, it'll be splashed all over the place."

He wasn't telling me anything I hadn't already known. It'd been something the bosses and I talked about - a lot. Seeing that the Giants were based out of San Fran helped, and the fact I was still a base coach, even if I was a fucking great one, kept talk to a minimum. I'd never kept my lifestyle secret, and the coaches I've worked with over the years haven't made a big deal about it. There'd only been one incident ever with any of the players, and it'd been a new draft pick. He didn't last long in the club. I knew that even if some of the guys didn't particularly care for my choice of lifestyle, they didn't give me shit. If I wasn't going to carry it to work, they weren't.

"What brings you to an out of the way diner at this hour on a Friday night?" I changed the subject.

I'd caught him with a mouthful, and he gave me a half smile. "I was at a club a few streets over." He shrugged. "Boring scene and thought I'd take a walk. Saw that this place was open and wanted some coffee." Picking up his cup, he tilted it in my direction before taking a sip. "Now you."

"My apartment building is across the street." His eyes widened slightly and his smile warmed. Quatre's words danced before my eyes. What's that saying? No time like the present. Fine. "Actually, just came from dinner at a friend's that didn't go too well and I didn't want to go home. Didn't want to go to a bar." I gave him a wry smile. "The diner is always open and always has pie."

His hand tightened on mine, reminding me he still held it. "Pie is good."

I stared at his hand, with its blunted fingers, and short-clipped nails. His index finger had a small scar across a knuckle and I wanted to ask him how he got it. "Would you..." and I hesitated, for no matter how many times I'd asked, demanded, or accepted the proposition, I'd never offered my own place. "Would you like to see my apartment?" I didn't need to watch him to know my face flamed. "I've some stuff on the Giants I could show you no one else has." My eyes met his, and he squeezed my hand again.

"Okay," he said simply. Letting go of my hand, he reached into his pocket. "Let me get the tab."

"No, I invited you," I insisted, a touch of wildness crept into my voice. Meeting his eyes again, I compromised. "Dutch then?" and he laughed.

The walk to the apartment building was smooth, comfortable. Mostly silent, not touching, I lead the way up the stairs to the third floor. My place wasn't the showroom Quatre's was, it wasn't even close, but it had some very fine points. Hardwood floors and gabled windows being my favorites. I waved Greg to have a seat on the couch and went off to the kitchen to make coffee.

Not fifteen minutes from the café and we were sitting close, talking like old friends. He told me of how he'd gotten the job at the paper and of his first days in the city. I told him of landing the job as assistant PT, and how it mostly consisted of running whirlpool baths, wrapping smelly feet and massaging muscles of cranky athletics. In between anecdotes, tongues were used for other activities besides talking.

His shirt untucked, unbutton and hanging from his shoulders, I practically had him flat on his back on the couch. Hands in constant motion, my fingers worked their magic. Greg was putty under me; one of his hands in an iron grip on a shoulder, the other down the back of my jeans, kneading my ass. I kept my lips working, on his, down his neck, across his chest, and back.

We were grinding thighs, hips and bulges, mouths wide with tongues exchanging favors; a finger slipped into the clef between cheeks and began to tease. Instantly, I froze. It took Greg several seconds to realize I'd stopped responding, but by the time he pulled back enough to look at me, I remembered I was supposed to be on the receiving end.

"What's wrong?" he took the moment to ask, releasing his grip on my shoulder to cup the back of my neck.

I shook my head, pressing my mouth to the side of his jaw and rocking my hips into his. "Nothing, babe. It's just been awhile."

He nodded acceptance but pulled his hand out of my pants. "Weren't you going to show me the rest of your apartment?" His grin told me where he wanted to take this, and, while part of me agreed, not wanting to lose my virginity on the couch, another part of me screamed to kick the guy out on his ass. I stood and pulled him up off the couch.

"Walk this way," I smirked and put a deliberate sashay in my walk.

Greg laughed, and hooked fingers in a back pocket on my jeans. "I think I'd break something if I tried walking like that."

Just inside the bedroom, Greg pulled me back, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my neck. "Duo Maxwell," he breathed in such a voice that it made my skin pimple in anticipation. "You are the sexiest man I've ever met."

I leaned back into him, dropped my head to the side and took his mouth in mine. A total top didn't mean always being in control, but even the smallest surrender felt monumental knowing what the end result was to become. I had to relax. I knew that. I had to just let it happen, let Greg do what he needed, and get it over with. Then we'd see.

"Be right back," I told him, stepping away from his embrace. Gesturing to the bed, I smiled in what I hoped was encouragement. "Make yourself at home. I'll only be a minute." And then I fled to the bathroom and quietly locked the door.

Staring at my reflection, I wondered who Greg had seen and thought so sexy. My eyes were too wild, my mouth too tight, I looked like what I was - fucking scared but too stupid to admit it. I let Greg in. Told him shit I tell nobody. Let him live after fingering me. He was a nice guy, sexy in a quiet way, and one hell of a fantastic kisser. He knew what he was doing, was aggressive but not pushy. What the hell was I waiting for.

Still stalling, I used the toilet, flushed, took off my shirt and dropped it in the hamper, washed my hands, and splashed water over my face and neck. Time was up; he'd come hunting me pretty soon if I didn't make an appearance. My hands in a death grip on the edge of the sink, I whispered the mantra, "you can do this," over and over. Game time, and I opened the door.

Greg had turned on the bedside light, pulled the covers down in a neat fold over the foot of the bed, and had set out a bottle of lube and a condom. My gaze lingered on those before finding him. He was nude, standing almost in a pose with a hand braced on a bedpost, watching me. My eyes traveled over his body, and I liked what I saw.

Leaning against the doorframe, hip thrust out with a thumb hooked in a loop of my jeans, I posed a little myself. I'd left my belt unfastened, my pants unzipped and my shoes in the bathroom. Seeing Greg smile, watching his eyes lite up and his hands twitch in excitement, relaxed me, restored my flagging confidence. It was just a position, and like baseball, practice made perfect. I could do this.

I sauntered over the floor to stand scant inches in front of him. Barely leaning forward, I brushed his lips, and my hands went to his sides. There was no way I could be passive in this, but I hadn't a clue how to begin this descent. I hoped Greg would take the initiative. And he did.

His arms slid around my waist, pulled me up against him, and he deepened my tentative touch. He did his best to remind me how talented he was in the kissing department. So good, that when his hands pulled my jeans off, I was aware but didn't care. When the boxers followed, I had to pause. This time, he didn't seem to noticed. A hand pressed to each cheek, he spun me around, putting the back of my knees to the edge of the bed. He dropped his head to kiss my neck, his tongue lapped up stray water drops from my shoulders. My hands clawed at his back, and suddenly we were toppling over backward on the bed.

He held himself up off me using both arms, and brought a knee up along side my thigh. I gave an amused laugh and slid back on the sheets, giving him room. He moved with me, dipping his head to run his tongue over a nipple. I arched up in pleasure; it'd been so long since I'd been touched this way. Even as he started kissing me again, he lowered his body on mine, and I moaned into his mouth. The press of his stiff cock to my groin urged me to flip him over, and pound into his ass. But I suppressed that thought.

I let my hands cling to his back, travel to his waist and run down his arms. I kept them away from his ass. It'd be my luck my body would go on automatic pilot, and I would be plunging into him before my brain caught up to what was happening. He did a lot of moving above me, and I had to stop myself from making notes on what not to do to my bottom. Some things that felt good being on top, weren't so nice being on bottom.

"Let me," he murmured in my ear, one of his hands on my braid. I shook my head no, and pulled his hand away. He didn't ask any questions, but instead smiled almost tenderly and kissed the corner of my mouth.

With my knees bent, parted and drawn with heels to my ass, Greg lay between them, his body flush with mine. Leaning up on one elbow, his fingers stroked my cheek as he kissed me. I kept my eyes on his, concentrating on kissing him back. I ignored the niggling tingle in my gut. Greg's other arm worked its way under one of my thighs, pulling it high on his arm while his hand rubbed my ass.

Trying not to think about what his hand was doing, where it was going, I started to shake. Greg must have thought I was getting too excited, for he kept muttering something about preparing and it'd be soon. My sphincter clamped shut, and my ass shifted away from his hand. My hard-on long gone.

"No," I whispered, my hands like claws on his shoulders.

Again, I don't think he understood, for his fingers slick with gel, slid between cheeks, and I decked him. My vision sort of faded for a moment, but I knew my fist connected with his jaw and suddenly he was sitting at my feet gawking at me. I opened my mouth and snapped it shut.

"Fuck," I groaned, shifting out from under him, and sitting up on the edge of the bed. I stared at the throw rug, tracing the zigzag pattern with my eyes. "Fuck," I repeated, my head no longer spinning.

"Yeah," Greg spoke. I felt the mattress shift, and saw him sit near me, but far enough to be non-threatening. "You, uh, mind telling me what's going on?" he asked mildly enough.

Raking my hands through my hair, I sighed deeply and tilted my head to look at him. "I have no fucking clue, anymore."

His eyes turned concerned, and he reached a hand out to touch my shoulder. "You okay?"

I nodded slowly. Now that he wasn't over me, wasn't about to penetrate me, I was. "Listen, Greg, I... I've just been through a lot of shit tonight, and you've sort of got caught in the middle," I offered by way of explanation.

"Want to talk about it?" He rubbed my shoulder lightly, in calming strokes.

Damn, he was a nice guy. I gave him a half smile. "Shit." I shook my head. "A friend of mine thinks I have... issues and believes if I let someone fuck me it'll make it all better." His eyes narrowed and he started to pull away. I grabbed his hand. "Wait, that didn't come out right." He stayed and I hung onto his hand while I thought of how to say what I needed without making it worse.

"I'm a top," I stated simply enough. "Always have, and looks like always will."

He was nodding his head. "I picked that up from you, but thought you switched when needed." He shrugged. "You weren't protesting, didn't say anything." I nodded and went back to staring at the rug. "You know, if you had told me, we could have done this differently."

"Yeah, well, I have problems opening up to people too." He laughed, and I looked at him, smiling.

With a hand to his jaw, Greg worked it a bit. "You can hit, no problems with that," he said, humor coloring his tone.

It dawned on me how different I would have handled this same situation. I would have been long gone and the hell with the fussy bottom boy, and not sit there cracking jokes, holding his hand. Sliding closer, I gave Greg a one armed hug. "Hey, man, I'm ...fuck, I'm sorry," I whispered into his shoulder. I felt him nod into my hair.

"It's okay, Duo, really." He pushed me back to look at me. Looking a bit embarrassed, he gave me a wry smile. "I don't bottom. Hate it." I snorted. How well I can understand. "I have before, several times in fact. But only when I was in love with the guy." He gave a shrug. "After we split up, I swore I'd never do it again."

I knew what he was saying, and nodded, moving back, giving him some space. "So, it looks like you and me, it's not going to happen, right?"

"No," he said softly, his fingers stroking my arm. "You might overcome whatever it is that keeps you from being a bottom, but you're always going to be a top. And since I won't be a bottom..." he didn't finish. Giving my upper arm a squeeze, he stood. "Guess I'll be leaving now."

Feeling more than a little guilt, I rose with him, snagged my jeans and slipped them on. "If it were any other way," I began and stopped. It wasn't and no sense making into more of a dramatic mess.

He only nodded, buttoning up his shirt. "It's not like we can't be friends," he said finally.

I followed him to the couch and stood waiting while he pulled on his socks and shoes. "What's it like?" He looked up at me, brows furrowed. "To bottom, I mean."

Greg held my gaze for a moment, finished tying his shoe and said, "You don't want to ask me. I told you, I hated it." He stood and walked towards me.

"But, why?" I really wanted to know, from one top to another.

He stopped just in front of me, and raised a hand. His expression was a mixture of tenderness and regret, and his hand brushed straggling hair from my face. "It makes me feel used," was all he said. Greg leaned down to kiss me, and I let him. But I didn't return the kiss.

At the door he stopped. "What I told you in the café tonight, I meant it. One of these days you're going to be the head coach." His eyes were level with mine. "And when that happens, I want the first interview."

I laughed. "Asshole." He smiled, chuckling. "You got it, hot stuff. I make head coach, you've got the interview." He turned away, and I watched him head down the hall, and disappear down the stairs. When I could no longer hear his footsteps, I shut and locked the door.

The apartment was suddenly empty, void of a warmth that'd almost been there. I cleaned up, turned off the coffeepot, stripped and went to bed. Sleep was a long time coming, and I wondered if I would be like Greg too. Find someone to give in and be bottom for, only to discover I hated it.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings and notes on the first chapter.

* * *

**Watch Me Spin**

**Chapter 3**

Saturday afternoon I spent at one of the other coach's houses, watching a game on ESPN. Several team support staffers were in attendance and a couple of the players. It was a typical jock setting, complete with beer and chips, big screen tv and rowdy behavior. But it was different in subtle ways. Beers were nursed, and most limited the intake. The junk food was inhaled sparingly, and the mock fights didn't cause destruction.

I was able to lose personal life thoughts in work mode, for despite appearances, not one of the support staffers nor the players took their eyes off the tv screen to who was doing what, and what the stats were on the field. Another gathering was being held showing one of the other games, where those invited sat taking notes on who did what and who the injured were. Monday would find most of the coaching staff closeted, watching hours of taped games, looking for weaknesses that could be exploited, planning strategies for the next upcoming games.

It wasn't until close to quitting time Tuesday that I even let thoughts on my problem crowd my mind. Work had been that demanding, with a game on Sunday, and practice and planning on Monday, it didn't leave time for much of anything else. I was going over weekend scores, inning by inning, to determine the line up for the away game on Thursday. The word bottom appeared more often than I'd ever seen it for scoring. And each time I read the word, I'd think of Greg. Though I'd pushed off thinking about things, I did stop and pick up papers every day just to read his by-line. I wasn't sure if I should be happy or not that he hadn't mentioned my name once.

The private line to him was ringing before I gave it another thought. If I had, I would have let a week pass before mending the bridge.

"Duo?" Quatre sounded surprised, pleased and relieved. And I felt like a schmuck for not calling him sooner.

"Yeah, buddy," I answered, a bit subdued.

"I'm sorry," we both said at the same time. I stared at the phone for a moment and laughed.

"Duo? What are you sorry for? It was my fault. I shouldn't have." Quatre sounded really contrite.

I was smiling, and actually happy for the first time in days. "Tell you what then, buddy. I'll sit here and let you suck up to me, then I'll do my apology bit and we'll move on to why I'm calling, k?"

That made Quatre laugh. "Whatever, Duo. I might be sorry for pulling that stunt but you're still an asshole." Yeah, things were good between us. "So, why are you apologizing?"

Drawing in a deep breath, I leaned back in my chair and propped my feet up on a box I had just for that reason. "You were right."

Complete silence wasn't what I'd expected. "I... I don't know what to say, Duo. I'd apologize again, but don't think that will help." I chuckled. "How did you come about that discovery?"

"After I left your place, I did a lot of thinking. And..." I still wasn't sure how much I wanted to tell him. Such a failure wasn't something I was proud of. "I came to the conclusion I needed help. I decided that I can't do it on my own."

"Are you asking me to help?" his tone was a little fearful, and a lot puzzled.

"No," I fought to keep the amusement from my own tone. "Just the number of that f... shrink you suggested."

"Oh!" he exclaimed. I heard a rapid shuffle and knew he was looking in his day planner. "Chang Wufei, here it is..." He read off the number and I jotted it on a pad. "If you want, I can give him a call, and see if he can schedule you an appoint this week?"

"This week?" I tapped my pen on the pad. What the hell, I'd already admitted I had a problem, fixing it should become priority, right? "Uh, sure Quatre. But we're flying out tomorrow and won't be back until early afternoon Friday. This week might not work." I was already flipping through flights and game schedules for the next couple of weeks.

"Why don't I see if he has any openings for late Friday afternoon, or evening? And if he does, I'll book it. If not, I'll find something for you next week, okay?"

"You're a pushy top, you know it?" I groused. "Friday sounds good. I'll have my cell with me, just let me know when and where." I hesitated, but asked anyway. "So, what happens at these ...sessions?" Visions of a Sigmund Freud-like hooker kept flashing me, and was so not what I needed.

"From talking to Wufei, the initial visit will determine how your sessions will be conducted. He tries to find out what setting you're most comfortable in to talk about what you need to in order to move to the next step." Quatre paused, and added with a slight laugh, "I had no problems talking to him at his office, but I think you might like a more relaxed environment."

"Uh huh," I mumbled, now seeing Sigmund wearing a smoking jacket with a martini glass in one hand while perched on a lounge chair. "And he asks you about your sex life?"

"Of course. He's not clinical about it, but he doesn't force you to give up details you don't want to talk about," he started to sound distracted. "I imagine it would depend on what your problem is, and what he thinks you need to work through it."

Doctor Ruth wearing a bustier and matching panties complete with stockings and garter, joined Sigmund on the lounge, and I groaned. "Quat, please, stop talking! Make the appointment, let me know when and where to show up and I'll be there."

"Alright, Duo," he sounded surprised. "I don't want to cut you short, but I have a meeting I must attend in less than five minutes, and I can't find the contract under discussion."

"Look on the coffee table," I told him, sketching out a passable Sigmund Freud next to the shrink's number.

"It is there! How'd you know? Nevermind, I have to go!" He hung up in the middle of his goodbye, and I replaced the receiver.

Quatre made a point of having a traditional tea daily, and I'd joined him more than a few times to munch on crackers and sip imported tea not to know his habits. Not once in all the years I've known him had he let an hour go by while at work that he didn't have something in hand to look over, review, revise or rewrite. If he had an important meeting late in the afternoon, he would have been reading documents for that meeting while at tea. As simple as that.

After landing in Phoenix, I picked up a voice mail from Quatre. My appointment was on for Friday at four. Keeping it casual and relaxed, Quatre had said. Meeting my new shrink at a trendy coffee shop in the market district wasn't exactly promising, but sounded better than some stuffy office.

Friday, I missed my flight.

I was running late, as usual, and the hotel the team stayed in had mixed up information. It took longer than I thought to straighten out. And then there was an accident on the freeway. I promised the cabbie double the fare if he could get me to the airport on time, but no matter what street he turned down, traffic was not our friend. I still gave him a healthy tip, bluffed my way through security, and ran for the gate. I arrived just in time to see the plane begin taxiing away.

The next flight was two hours later, putting me in San Fran just after two. It would be cutting it close, but as long as I could avoid the bridge, I'd make it. Since my talk with Quatre on Tuesday, I'd come to the decision to make this counseling thing work. I was going to be paying this guy a shitload of money, and not that I couldn't afford it, but if the end result mattered - and it did - then I'd have to do something. Sitting there staring at some monkey-suited guy wasn't going to get me there.

The problem was, just what did I tell him? I should have asked Quatre more questions about what to expect, what kinds of things he would want to talk about. Did I have to go into my childhood history? I remembered some of Intro to Psych, and it seemed like that's what all psychiatrists asked about. Was it only the sexual stuff he wanted to hear?

Did it matter that when I was six, I used to watch my babysitter bang her boyfriend on the couch? Or when I was ten, the boy that shared my room in foster-care used to jack-off in front of me and taught me how to give blow jobs? Was it the fact that my step father sodomized my older brother almost daily while I heard it all in the next room of our tiny trailer? That when I was eight, the fucker touched me, and when Solo tried to stop him, he beat the shit out of him? The bleeding was so bad, my brother didn't have a chance.

And digging into my little bag of failed relationships, my first real crush was a jock on the track team. I was all about baseball, but double lettered for him, wanting nothing more than to run at his side. He was my best buddy for two years, and when I got the courage to finally tell him, he shoved me into a wall, hit me and told me to never go near him again. I was already on Varsity, but quit the team before nationals. It didn't matter any more.

At least college was better, but not without its own set of sexual problems. I had to keep my orientation secret while playing for the team, or risk losing my scholarship. Seeking company of my own kind by traveling to the City, hanging out in the parks and engaging in a quick fuck weren't the events that led a lasting relationship. After the accident, it didn't matter who I was with, where.

I had to believe Murphy loved me. The plane landed in San Francisco just before three, and even sprinting like I was in a track meet didn't make up lost time. The cab driver was new to the city, and discovered his sure fired short-cut was up a one-way. I tossed money at him, and ran up nineteenth. A few minutes before four, my cell rang. I didn't stop running, but glanced at the caller-id and shut the ringer off. It wasn't a number I recognized and the coffeehouse was in sight.

Outside its doors, I skidded to a stop and pulled an old shirt from my bag. I wiped the sweat off as best I could, given the circumstances, and smoothed down the hair. At least it was still in its braid, mostly. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and walked in.

When Starbucks hit the mainstream, it gave coffee shops a new look and taste. Back in the fifties and sixties, coffeehouses were dark, smoky things where bad poetry was spoken in beatnik fashion. During the hippie generation, coffeehouses all but died out. Except in San Fran were nothing dies, it metamorphoses. This particular coffeehouse was a fucked up blend of Bob Kaufman and Martha Stewart.

Shifting my bag from one hand to the other, I rubbed my palm on my jeans, and looked around. Of the dozen people or so sitting around the mixed-matched chairs, tables and even a sofa, I suddenly realized I had no fucking clue who I was looking for. Alright, it shouldn't be too hard. His name was Chang Wufei, and he used the traditional formation to his name. That would definitely make him Asian. Another scan of the room, and I narrowed it down to a potential three. Two were quickly crossed off my list - one was asking the counter-girl for directions to the Art Museum, and the other had his tongue down some chick's throat.

I walked over to the third man, more than a little impressed. All this time I'd been thinking this shrink had to be someone old, someone maybe a little scuzzy, but this guy, shit. He sat in an armchair by a corner table with one of those planner things laid out writing in it, and sipping his coffee or tea or whatever the fuck he was having. He looked about my age, but it was hard to tell for sure. Dressed nice, but not formal business - casual chic. He looked up when I approached and I forgot why I was there for a moment.

The fucker had the most god-damned gorgeous blue eyes I'd ever seen.

He only blinked at me, waiting. For what I wasn't sure, but those blue eyes raked me head to toe and he put down his pen and smiled. That prodded me.

"Hi, I'm Duo Maxwell," I introduced myself, sticking my hand out. He continued to smile and took my hand. It wasn't so much a shake as a squeeze and caress, with his fingers lingering on my palm. Well, alright then. This guy was a professional. "Sorry for the delay, but I missed my flight and then the one I did catch was late, and the cab got stuck in traffic, and I ran, but..." He blinked in rapid succession and frowned, trying to follow my words. I took a deep breath and ended with, "could I sit down now? I must have ran the last five blocks and I'm not eighteen any more."

His eyes widened, and he looked around the room quickly. Nodding his head, he gave me a small smile. "Please, have a seat. Can I order you something to drink? A water? Some coffee?" If anything, his voice made him even more appealing. I couldn't help gaping at him.

"Uh, no," I barely whispered and dropped into the chair. He frowned at me again, and I pulled myself together. "I mean, yeah, let me get something. I'll be right back." And I fled, leaving my bag sitting on the floor by the chair.

I had to get a grip, and fast. This man was supposed to be my doctor, and it didn't matter that at some point in the not too distant future, he'd be fucking me. He was a professional, and I needed to act like one as well. Okay, I needed to act like his patient at the very least. From the corner of my eye, I knew he watched me placing my order. While it was being made, I disappeared down the hall to the men's, hoping he still watched.

Wishing I'd brought my bag in with me, I did a quick wash, straightened my hair some more, unbuttoned the top two buttons on my polo shirt and tucked it into my jeans a little neater. It would have to do. Not the best first impression, but I'd be better prepared by our next session. Smiling, I left the bathroom and picked up my fancy latte drink on the way back to the table.

He was wearing an amused half-smile when I got back and sat down. That planner thing was nowhere in sight and he leaned forward watching me take my first drink.

"So, where do you want to start?" I tossed out, fiddling with my cup lid. He drew back, and didn't answer, a little frown on his face. "I mean, Quatre didn't tell me a whole lot of what to expect, but I assumed you'll want to hear about me growing up, and my sexual history - all that crap." He kept staring at me, and I picked up my cup in a hurry, spilling a little on the table and over my hand. "Shit!" I cried and stuck my fingers in my mouth.

"Here," he said, picking up a couple of napkins, and pressing them over the back of my hand. "Don't suck on it. That will make it burn worse." He was holding my hand in one of his, dabbing the back with the other. "It doesn't look too bad, but if you think you need it, I can see if they have some ointment behind the counter."

"No," I croaked, and cleared my throat. "No, it's okay." His hands were soft, the nails manicured, but his grip was tempered strength. This Chang guy, there was more to him than his outer skin. No wonder Quatre wouldn't shut up about him. I should have made this appointment a month ago.

He examined my hand, brushed a fingertip over the top of the reddest spot and looked up at me. "Does it still hurt?"

I shook my head, staring at him. "Guess being a doctor, you had to learn stuff like that." He gave me an odd look and opened his mouth. I waved my other hand in the air. "I know... you're not that kind of doctor, but even a psychiatrist has to learn some medical stuff, right?"

"Yes, but I don't think..."

"Even if you're specialized in sexual therapy and all." He really did have the most gorgeous blue eyes. They widened to nearly filling his face and I realized where we were. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I mean," I looked around quickly. "I don't think anyone heard us. I didn't mean to... okay, I'll stop talking now."

"Listen, Duo," he said, setting my hand down and leaning closer as if it were a possibility over that tiny table. "I really don't think I'm the person you're looking for..."

If I blew this, I didn't think I'd be able to go through it again. I grabbed his hand, and held tight. "Hey, don't leave. I know I haven't made a good impression so far, being late for our appointment, looking like hell and then spilling shit." I swallowed, forcing myself to not beg. "I really didn't mean to be so loud with what you do, but I've never done anything like this and don't know what to expect. So, could you give me another chance?"

He shifted around on his chair, but didn't remove his hand. He looked at me, at our clasped hands and then out the window. "I have to be honest with you, Duo. I'm pretty sure I'm not the one who," he turned back to me, and stopped speaking suddenly.

At his words, I felt like I'd been kicked. He was rejecting me. I was ready to tell him everything about me and he was telling me he wasn't the one. "I... see." I was breathing hard through my nose, and let go of his hand; mine were trembling and I was afraid he'd notice. "I'll just go now." I started to push my chair back and he caught my cuff.

"Wait," he said softly. Half-way out of my chair, I looked at him. "I might not be the one who can help you, but maybe..." He dropped his eyes from mine. "Maybe I can at least listen."

I sat back down. "Okay. Quatre told me you'd listen and come up with a plan to help, if you could."

He frowned slightly. "What else did Quatre tell you?" His hands were wrapped around his coffee cup, and he held it to his lips, prepared to drink.

"Just that you were good, the best in the business." I thought back to the half dozen times Quat had mentioned this guy to me. "He said you specialized in sexual problems gay men typically have, and helped work them through whatever their hang up was so they could have sex, or whatever."

"You're having problems with sex?" he asked, staring at me over the brim of his cup, disbelief in his eyes.

It was my turn to look away. "Uh, yeah," I muttered, pulling at my collar. "Didn't Quatre say anything?"

"No, not to me."

Shit. And here I thought I wouldn't have to go into it. "I'm a top," I started, darting a glance and him. He nodded, and took a drink, watching me. "I can't bottom. I mean, I never have and when I tried..." I flashed him a rueful grin. "I about busted the guy's jaw."

He chuckled. "Why'd you do that?"

I fussed with the napkins on the table. "Don't I have to start at the beginning, or something? Isn't that how it usually goes?" I knew I was hedging, but I wasn't so sure I wanted to just jump into talking about it. At least not like this.

"Let's start at the problem. And if you feel comfortable telling me more, then you can." He touched my hand, drawing my attention to his face. "Duo, it's important to me for you to only tell me what you feel you have to. Only what you must, okay?"

I got the feeling he was telling me the truth that it was important to him. And that feeling made me want to tell him everything – even if I didn't want to. "Quatre told me you'd say something like that. Being comfortable is how you want your patients to be." He gave me another little frown. I was getting the idea he didn't like the fact Quatre had told me all these things. Well, whatever. He was at least willing to listen to me now, and I was going to take advantage of it. "So, you want to hear why I cracked Greg's jaw, huh?" I made one of those mental notes to send an apology to the guy.

"If you feel like talking about it, yes." Damn, he was smooth.

Where to start? From meeting Greg, from his hand down my pants, or … "It was sort of one of those things. I thought I could prove to Quatre and Trowa that I didn't need help. That I could get close enough to let someone fuck me, you know?" I glanced up from shredding napkins to see him almost choke on his coffee. He waved me on. "But when it came down to it, I got… I don't know – scared?" My shoulder lifted a bit. "I couldn't talk myself into it."

"And hitting the guy was the only way to ..." he seemed to be searching for the right word.

"I guess not, but he was about to, well," here I stopped. I'd never talked about my sex life in detail to anyone, including Quatre. I hadn't told Greg it was my first time. "He didn't know what was up. He didn't understand I wasn't enjoying myself any more."

"It's okay," he soothed. His fingers touched the back of my hand, and he left them there.

Shaking off the morose feeling hanging about, I tossed out, "Yeah, so I hit Greg, and felt bad. But the guy's really nice." I shrugged. "A total top too, so it wouldn't have worked out anyway, even if I could have gone through with it."

He nodded. "I see." He stared at me, a moment before asking, "Is it important to share positions in a relationship? Once you get past the issue you're having, I mean?"

I frowned at him. "You mean, take turns and all that?" He nodded again. "Hadn't really thought about it all that much. I've always been a top, you know. Guess it'd depend on what it's like from the other side." I grinned and he smiled.

"But if your partner were to want to trade, would you?" I thought I'd just answered that question, but he stopped me from responding. "What I'm trying to ask is, would you be willing to work things out with someone, even if it wasn't what you initially thought it to be?"

Ah, mud made clearer. "It still depends on the situation." I scowled down at the table thinking about it. "I've never been in a relationship - not the lover kind. So, I'm not sure how I'd react. I'd like to think if I found someone I wanted to be with for more than a few hours," I darted a glance at him to gauge his reaction. His expression remained neutral, so that was a good thing. "I'd work my ass off to keep him happy. As long as I was happy, I mean."

"That's what I was hoping to hear." He leaned back in his chair and took another drink from his cup. That surprised me. Why would he want to hear that unless it's a positive thing from a doctor's perspective.

"Why do you think you have issues with being a bottom?"

Crap. Family history and all that shit. I looked out the window, picked up my latte and set it back down. I glared at him. "Shouldn't you be taking notes?"

"Do you want me to?" he only blinked at me.

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, but I thought all doctors did."

"I'm not like all doctors." And he smiled.

"I see that." I grinned at him and looked away. "Actually, if we can put that question on hold for a bit, I'd appreciate it."

He nodded. "Okay, so what do you want to talk about now?"

"Not sure. Like I said, I've never done this before so I don't know what you expect."

"I'm not expecting anything of you, Duo." He looked at his watch and back to me. "If you want to talk, talk. Tell me whatever you want, whatever's on your mind. I'll listen."

"You have to be somewhere?" I asked, pointing at his wrist. "I can reschedule, or something. Just let me know."

"I'm supposed to meet with a client in an hour, but I'd like to call and cancel." My cheeks warmed; I was sure it was because of me.

"I'd hate to mess up your plans, man. I miss half our appointment because I was late. It's not someone else's fault."

He was shaking his head. "No, Duo. I'd like to spend more time with you." He gave me a rueful sort of smile. "I have to confess, I've enjoyed this far more than I should."

"Then, I guess it'd be alright." I suddenly wasn't sure where to look any more. "And I'm kind of glad we'll be spending more time together." I heard a sort of coughing noise, and saw his face turn red.

"If you'll excuse me a moment?" He looked at me expectantly and when I nodded, he pulled a cell from one of his pockets. A couple of buttons pushed later, and he spoke into the phone. "Marci? Great, glad I caught you. Listen, I need you to cancel my meeting with Julian." His eyes met mine and I played like I wasn't listening.

"I know what time it is. Tell him I'll see him on Monday. We can meet for lunch and he can show it to me then." He plugged his other ear with a finger. "What? No, I will not meet with him this weekend. Because the man's a temperamental artist, and I don't feel like putting up with it." I looked out the window, wondering what kind of client he was seeing, and wondered why it bothered me.

"Thanks. I owe you." I glanced back at him, expecting the call to be over, but he continued to talk. "The opening isn't for another two weeks. We've more than enough time." I vaguely wondered if doctor offices opened branches or something, and if that's what he was referring to. Maybe I'd have time to ask later. Maybe I would make plans to attend or something. "Use the Monachelli as the center piece, then. And tell Sondersen he can go to hell. I don't need his contribution that much." Frowning, I left off pretense of not listening and watched the expressions play over his face.

"And Marci, remind me to give you a raise on Monday." He looked up to catch me staring at him. "Listen, I'm going to have to go. We can discuss this first thing. Bye." He closed the phone and slipped it into his pocket, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, still watching me.

I shook my head, dismissing the overheard conversation. It wasn't my business who the hell he was seeing, and if he wanted privacy, he would have left the table, right? "Nah, you just sound busy."

"Sometimes it's a little more crazy than others." He frowned down at his cup, tilting it up. I noticed it was empty. "Seasonal changes, patronage problems and demanding clients, it's been rather a hectic week."

"Maybe I should be the one listening to you," I joked, smiling.

"Maybe, someday you will," he murmured, keeping his eyes on me.

Fuck me. What the hell did he mean by that? I felt myself fucking blush like a girl and ducked my head.

"You're on staff with the Giants?" he asked, the tone of his voice changing.

"Yeah, so Quat did tell you something, after all." I grinned and he raised a brow, looking pointedly at my shirt. Shit. I was wearing a team polo. "Oh, yeah." I scratched at my head. "Forgot I was wearing it and didn't have time to change."

"You look fine." His eyes were telling me he liked what he was looking at. "What do you do?"

"I'm a baseline coach, and in a pinch, the batting coach." I leaned forward, wanting to tell him about my job, wanting him to be interested.

"What's a baseline coach do exactly? I can guess at a batting coach." He was smiling, encouraging me to talk.

I spent some time telling him the more humorous aspects of my current position, of knowing the players to the extent I could send one to steal home and know he'd make it. And then there's the bickering and fighting. We talked about some of the better known personalities of baseball, and I'm not saying just the players. Some coaches were more well-known than their players ever were.

At one point in there, he'd gone up to the counter and got us both fresh drinks. I liked the view watching him; both the coming and going. I know I wasn't imagining him deliberately touching me when he handed the drink over. I'd done that sort of thing enough to know how it's done. When he settled back in his chair, I gave him a knowing wink. Yeah, that's right buddy, you might be my doctor, but I know the score here.

"Why a coach? How come you don't play?" he asked softly.

"It's kind of a long story," I started, glancing out the window and seeing the street lights come on.

"We have all night, if you want," he offered.

"It'd put you to sleep long before then." To prove the point, I raised my cup and took a sip of barely diluted caffeine.

He shook his head. "I doubt it. But give it your best shot."

I made myself comfortable in the chair, but glanced at the couch on the other side of the room, thinking how much better that'd be than where we were. The thought of inviting him to my apartment crossed my mind, but hints of Greg overshadowed it.

"I went to college on a baseball scholarship," I began. "I knew young what I was, you know?" My eyes flicked upward and he was nodding. He knew. "In my third year, I was approached by a scout from the pros." Shrugging lightly, my lips twisted. God it still rankled. "It wasn't the first time, but it was with a team I wanted to be associated with, and they really meant business."

He was still listening, like he said he would from the start. I'd fallen silent, remembering all that shit. "You don't have to tell me," his voice was low. Maybe it was the knowing look in his eyes, like he'd either seen it or experienced it before, but it was enough to prod me into talking again.

"Jealousy and bigotry can be ugly things." I took a deep breath. "You know what a baseball bat can do to a knee, Doc?" He visibly winced. "Yeah, that's what happened to me. One of the seniors on the team thought he'd have a better chance with me out of the way, you know." The sound of the bat breaking on my leg was what I remembered the most. The pain I'd never forget, yeah, but that sound - there's nothing like it in the world. "I was in the hospital for three weeks. Had to have the knee replaced."

"What happened to the other player?"

My teeth gritted together hard enough I thought I'd crack one. Biting out each word, I told him, "They deemed it an accident. He was benched for the rest of the season."

He shifted on his seat and gave this jerky little negative nod thing. "What of you, then? It hardly seems ...right."

"Fuck no, it wasn't!" I hadn't meant to shout, and looked around quickly before ducking my head low. "Sorry, it's just that... well, it still gets me, you know?" He nodded. I offered a humorless smile. "The school let me ride out the rest of my scholarship as long as it remained sport related."

"At least there was that."

For a long moment, I sat silent. Once, more years ago than I cared to think of, I'd been told to be grateful for what I had, not what I could have had, but sometimes it wasn't enough. Sometimes it just fucking sucked. Quietly, trying to make him understand how dark it'd been then, I told him, "If it hadn't been for Quatre, I think I would have shot myself."

"Because you couldn't play any more?" his question was soft and I almost didn't hear it.

I stared at the liquid in my cup. "That was part of it. The bitterness of what could have been, you know." Looking at him, my lips twitched with a hint of a smile. "Like everything else in my life by then, two steps forward, one step back. Just gets tiring after awhile."

Understanding, clear and sharp, peered out of those blue eyes. "I know." And I believed him.

My hand was on my leg, fingers rubbing absently as if to rid it of some phantom pain from years ago. "If it'd been my own fault for blowing out the knee, it might have been a little easier to take, but fuck, when one of your own teammates does the job for you..." I left it hanging, and shook my head. The weeks spent in traction, the months in physical therapy, and the pain that lived on. A free ride hadn't been worth it.

"So you changed your major, your focus in school?" he prompted, edging me from that black hole.

"Yeah, I went into physical education with an emphasis on sports injuries." He was watching me again. "I know everything there is to know about all things physical." I smirked. Let him think whatever he wanted on that.

"You'll have to teach me then," he threw right back. Damn, he was good.

"How about you? When'd you decide to become a doctor?"

"I didn't, but we're not here to talk about me. I'm listening to you, remember?" He looked at his watch again. "Tell you what, why don't we move this to one of my favorite restaurants, and I'll buy dinner."

I looked down at my clothing and shook my head. "I'm not really dressed to be seen in decent places."

"Who said anything about a decent place?" He laughed when I looked up surprised. "What you're wearing is acceptable. There isn't a dress code." He stood and pulled a couple ones from his pocket. "If I wasn't starved, I'd run home and get out of these clothes."

Picking up my bag, I straightened slowly, making a deliberate rake of my eyes. "I'd like to see you out of those clothes as well."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Warnings and notes on the first chapter. Added note for this chapter through chapter seven: Duo is a little dense (or should I say, oblivious?).

* * *

**Watch Me Spin**

**Chapter 4**

The Market District never closes. Those who lived and worked here were everyday citizens in daylight; they could have been mistaken for anyone from any other part of the country. Come nightfall, it was a different story. Come nightfall, it got fucking weird.

We left the coffeehouse, and he led the way, his hand on my back guiding my steps. Stopping for a moment, he pulled out a pack of gum, grabbed a stick and offered it to me. I shook my head and watched as he slid the unwrapped piece between his lips. When it disappeared, my eyes darted up to his and realized he had done it deliberately, to see what I'd do, or say, I dunno. But I'd never wanted to be peppermint gum so badly as I did then.

He smiled and we continued up the street. We must have walked a block before he said anything, and by then, I'd almost forgotten what he was referring to.

"You work fast."

A gyrating, twisted fucker had been holding my attention for several steps. I'd assumed it was male, thinking the bulge gave it away and no tits to speak of, but dressed as it was in full body leather, complete with leather mask ala Leatherface, I wasn't sure. Only hearing his voice, I glance to the side, blinking at him. "Huh?"

"You didn't mean what you said?" he sounded a little hurt. Said? Fuck! That's right, I would like to see him spread before me, naked.

I grinned. "Oh, I meant it. But I thought that's where we're headed eventually." He gave me one of those confused frowns again. "As part of the therapy, I'd think you'd have to strip sometime." An image flashed in my head of him crouched behind me, wearing what he was now with the fly of those slacks undone, and him getting ready to shove his dick in me. I stepped back away from him, a little freaked, and wondering why I was hardening.

"Duo?" He stepped with me, his hand reaching for my wrist. "You okay?"

His eyes really were fantastic, even in very little light. I nodded, thought about telling him what I'd just envisioned. S'yeah, right! He already thought I was crazy or sick or something. Let me just add some gas to that fire. Though when he turned and started to walk away, part of me wanted to know if it would have made him harden to hear it and part of me wanted to feel him behind me, touching me.

Up ahead, there was a large crowd milling around in front of a building; some oppressed body of humanity needed to lament their woes to all and sundry. I'd been hearing a squawky voice almost since we'd left the coffeehouse, but hadn't paid too much attention to it, given this was the Market District. Now, it was a little hard to ignore.

"Speaking of the therapy, Duo," the doc was yapping, and even walking right next to him, I could barely hear his voice over the bullhorn, the chanters and their detractors. I looked at him and nodded, but the activity in front jerked my head about. "I really need to tell you before we go much farther. It's been bugging me all night..."

A man in a security guard uniform, looking like a demented Curly from the three stooges came from the building and started yelling at the woman? screeching into the bullhorn. "Uh huh," I sort of mumbled, not able to stop watching as her friends left picket lines to form a protective barrier around her.

"...psychiatrist, and while I might be a doctor, I don't..." That guard was getting mad. Shit! I was grinning watching the guy. "...art gallery a few blocks..." He actually stomped his foot! Believe that shit! Grown man, wearing a fucking uniform, stomping his foot and throwing a fit just like a five year old. "I only hope you won't be too mad at me."

Wait. What? Back the truck up. "What?" I demanded. "I couldn't be mad at you. Shit. You've been great all night." And I grinned at him, taking his hand in mine to give it a squeeze.

He seemed to instantly relax and even grinned back. We were level with the crowd scene, now, and talking became impossible. Skirting the edge of the group, I almost lost the doc when the mass of bodies surged, and forced themselves between us. Fuck this shit. I stepped out into the street, got honked at, jogged around two or three cars and went back to the sidewalk. He was waiting on the other side, trying to find me in that mess.

I couldn't help myself. Stepping up close, I put a hand on his hip, and whispered in his ear, "miss me?"

A hand clamped over mine and he spun around in my non-existent embrace. "Yes," he said simply. We were close, and I could smell the gum he'd been chewing. I really fucking thought he was going to kiss me. I parted my lips a bit, hoped they weren't too chapped, and sure as hell hoped my breath wasn't as bad as I thought it was.

But he only turned me, pushing against my hip with his, and, with a hand around my wrist, he dragged me away. "This restaurant is another five or six blocks, off Pike." He was watching me under his brows. "You going to be okay with that?"

When he didn't do what I expected, I was surprised. If it'd been me in his place, I would have. Now I was just a little pissed and was glaring. "Yeah," I said shortly and jerked my arm out of his grip. I moved my bag from the far side to my other hand, putting it between us. He stared at it for a moment and then back at my expression.

"I should have got a cab. I forgot about your bag."

Snorting, I laughed. "For a measly ten blocks? I don't think so." I hefted the bag in my hand. "And this, I've been carting it around for so many years, it's like an extra limb. Don't even notice it any more."

"Do you do a lot of traveling?" he asked as soon as we resumed walking.

I nodded. "During the season, it's almost weekly. Sometimes just for a day, mostly two out of every week." I grimaced. "Come October, this bag disappears and I don't see it for four months." Come October, all I wanted to do is crash in bed for weeks, order out and vegetate.

"You don't travel between seasons?" He kept darting these little looks at me as we walked, his hand kept reaching for mine and then he'd pull it back.

"Not really." It was getting amusing. Dance of UST fairies. I'd assumed the doc was at least bi, but most likely gay, and I was sure as hell gay, and ever since I laid eyes on him, all I wanted to do was fuck him. It was weird trying to wrap my mind around it being him fucking me.

"...Switzerland, but think I enjoyed the Italian side more."

Shit. He'd been telling me something and I missed it. I nodded like I knew what he was talking about, and made a little vow to pay more attention to what he was saying rather than how his mouth moved. Talk about your unmatched sex temptations. Shit. What I wouldn't give to see those lips wrapped around my cock.

"...I've already scheduled Greece." Fuck! What the hell was he saying? "Have you ever been overseas?"

"Went to Paris once." My lip curled slightly. "It was kinda... dirty."

He only laughed. "You have to look beyond the surface, you know. A lot of older European cities are like that. They hold a lot of history." His hand landed just above my elbow, fingers barely circling. I was getting the idea he had a thing for touching. And for a change, I didn't mind at all.

"You've traveled a lot, then?" I looked around, beginning to wonder just where the hell this place was.

"Between seasons," he chuckled. "Though my seasons only last a month or so. Business will take me abroad every other month. Sometimes more often."

I made some sort of agreeable sound. "After baseball season is over with, I don't want to move for a week." I grinned in the dark. "And no one gets me on another plane until Winter Camp is called."

"What if there was someone who wanted you to go with him?" he asked softly.

My step faltered. Really. I almost fell on my fucking ass. Turning to face him, I saw he was serious. "Hey, Doc. Isn't that a little ahead of the game? I mean, you can think World Series, but don't book your hotel room until the pennant's nailed on the wall."

He only looked at me in this unwavering stare. Suddenly his fingers tightened on my arm and he moved. There was the sensation of a mini-vacuum, and he was kissing me. My bag hit the concrete. And my hands rose to wrap themselves around his neck of their own will, cause it sure as hell wasn't mine - it having hid the moment his flesh touched my flesh. And then it was over.

For a moment I thought I'd gone blind and then opened my eyes. I was pretty sure if he hadn't been holding me, I would have fallen on my ass. And I wanted more. I leaned forward, intending to fulfill that need, but he held me away, even stepping back. "Consider that my room deposit."

It took me a few seconds to realize he'd started walking again. Fuck me... Can't say I'd ever felt like a dizzy virgin experiencing her first kiss before. And damned if my head wasn't spinning. It took me two tries to even find the handle to my bag.

When I caught up to him, he had his hands in his pockets. He glanced at me, I thought to judge how I was taking it, but I wasn't sure. I gave him a little smile anyway, and carried my bag on the outside.

"Blue," he announced.

I almost stopped again, that coming out of the ...well - blue, like that. "Huh?" Oh so witty and intelligent I am not.

"I thought that we should get to know one another, and we could start with the simple things." He shot another look in my direction. "My favorite color is blue."

"Oh." Yeah, great conversationalist. "Well, uh, I guess mine would be..." I racked my brain. Did I even have a favorite color? I liked variety, but if I had to choose... "Black?"

"You don't sound too sure," the bastard was actually smiling.

"I guess I don't really have a favorite, but I sort of like wearing black mostly." It sounded lame, even to me. I wondered why it was suddenly important that I had a favorite color. It didn't matter, did it?

"Picture your bedroom." I nodded. Yeah, okay. "Tell me what color are the walls."

"A sort of cream color - off white." I grinned. "Egg-shell, I think." It'd been a couple of years since I'd painted, but I remembered the mess and how hard it was to clean off the floor.

"What color's the carpet?"

"No carpet," I responded, eyes lost envisioning my room. "Hardwood floors, but I've a couple throw rug things." I grinned at him again. "Only they're multi-colored." He smiled back, a sloeful look in his eyes.

"Tell me what color your bedspread or comforter is." He was a demanding bastard.

"Green, a dark green like a fir." And I frowned. My couch was pretty green too, and the rug under the coffee table was green. Breaking into a wide smile, I couldn't stop laughing. "Okay, I'd have to say my favorite color would be green. Not like grass or an emerald, but yeah, a darkish green." I couldn't understand how I didn't even know that for myself.

The doc stopped and smiled at me. "Good. Green is a great color. One of my favorites." When he didn't move, I looked at the door we were standing in front of. It was some sort of café. "We're here," he announced and held the door open.

Smells assaulted me the moment I stepped inside. But in a good way. I felt like standing there just sniffing some more, but the doc prodded me in the back. It was an open room, with maybe a couple dozen people sitting in groups of twos, threes and fours around wooden tables covered in white linen. The lighting was dim, warm and lent to the overall ambience of the place.

An elder man bustled from the back, working his way around tables. "Heero!" he cried, holding his arms out wide, and one of the biggest fucking smiles on his face I'd ever seen.

Doc shifted around me. "Dion, how've you been?" And then he was wrapped in a hug. Whoa. I'd never been hugged by wait-staff before.

And then it hit me. Heero?

I was sure Quatre had told me the guy's name was Chang Wufei, using the old formation style. But this guy, this maitre d' person rolled that other name off his tongue with r's like a Scotsman would say. It sounded awfully odd for a nickname. And I eyed the doc again. Some sort of joke with a play on Superman or something?

The two broke apart and the old guy looked at me then back at the doc. "You bring a friend." He'd turned his smile on me and his arms went wide. Shit! I took a step back, reaching for the door and the doc grabbed an arm.

"Let's skip this part, Dion. I'm hungry tonight."

This Dion person swung about immediately, clapped his hands and called out over his shoulder at us, "come, come. Your table is empty, so it's good, no?"

"It's good." The doc looked at me and nodded his head towards the old guy. "Come, come, our table awaits." He grinned, knowing how stupid that sounded I'm sure. I met his eyes and blinked. What the fuck was it with the eyes? I mean, sure, eyes are one attractive feature on a person most of the time, but with this guy, I couldn't get enough. I thought I would be able to look at them all day and still want more.

His hand went to my wrist and I allowed him to pull me into the restaurant in pursuit of Dion. I followed a couple of steps behind, and discovered I liked the way his pants fit. When he stopped, I almost ran into him I'd been watching where I walked so intently.

"...that'd be good to start," the doc was saying as he slid into his seat. He did one of those head bob things, meaning I should sit and asked, "Do you prefer beef, lamb, pork or chicken?"

Kicking my bag under the table, I did a quick scan of the restaurant. Other than some fantastic smells, I didn't have a clue what kind of place we were eating at. "Chicken." It was a pretty safe bet. Rarely was chicken botched so badly to deem it uneatable. I sat and stared at the table, wondering what the fuck I'd gotten myself into.

"Bring us two of the usual, then," the doc was ordering and I looked up frowning. The usual? "Do you want something to drink, Duo? I can recommend a wine, or if you'd rather, Dion has one of the best beer selections in the city."

I shook my head. "Nah, I'd better stick to water, I think." I grinned weakly.

Dion nodded. "Good! Water is good. I will be back." He turned and was gone, leaving me with my mouth open and eyes blinking.

"To hear him speak, you'd think he hadn't lived here for forty years." I nodded, listening but looked to see what the other patrons were eating. "This is his restaurant. Good place, good people and the food isn't bad either."

Just about the time I thought I recognized what the hell was served here, that Dion guy came back with a tray over one shoulder. With an efficiency of many years practice, he sat our drinks down, put a couple plates on the edge of the table with another large-assed plate piled high was flat bread. He used an empty table to hold the tray and pulled out a book of matches. I shot a glance at the doc, who only watched what the guy was doing. I looked back to see him set fire to a serving plate. Whoa. Last time anyone ever burned my food was me. In my own oven.

"As always, Dion, fantastic job!" What the fuck? Was this some sort of flambee dish or something? By the time I stopped staring at the doc, the fire had gone out and the serving plate put in the center of the table.

"Good. Good." Dion stood at the table, rubbing his hands and looking between the two of us. I watched him for a moment before looking at the doc. Damn, I was beginning to think I was in some kind of foreign film without a script. What the hell was going on? "The Giants!" Dion's shout startled me and I almost dropped my water.

Fuck. The last time I wear this shirt in public again. I nodded, smiling. Had to be good to the fans; boss didn't like it when I pissed someone off. "Yeah, the Giants."

"You play, no?" He was ...well, beaming at me. Like a human sun, his whole face shone with some excited mutable light.

"I play, no." I shook my head, a bit of a twisted smile on my face. "I coach."

"Ah, good. Is very good." he rubbed his hands together again. "That Jose Conseco, I like him very much. Good player."

On the other side of the table, Doc was sputtering in his water. I only gave Dion another smile and corrected his assumption. "Jose's a good player, but he plays for the A's."

"Jose," Dion's lip curled in a cruel way. "He no good. I spit on him." And fuck me if he didn't actually spit on the goddamn floor. "Giants, they San Francisco's team! They good team." He nodded vigorously.

"Thank you. They are a good team and I like 'em too." Things like this happened all the time. Overexcited fans, or someone wanting to impress or be noticed. But damn, it doesn't happen to me - not really.

Dion patted the doc's arm. "Enjoy, my friends." And he was gone. I wondered how the fuck he moved so fast.

"Try the saganaki. It's good." I focused on the doc to see him dip a fork into the gooey mess on the serving plate, pull out a bit and put it on some of the flat bread. Not that I didn't believe him, but I sort of got stuck watching him bite down on that triangle slice of bread and chew. Damn. His lips were as fatal as his eyes.

I nearly knocked over my water glass reaching for bread, but at least I didn't get the goop on anything scooping it up. And you know, he was right. This sagnaki turned out to be a hunk of flavored feta cheese, fried on the outside, seasoned and served with this tomato garnish. I was suddenly very hungry. Doc laughed when I snatched up another piece of bread. Which reminded me.

"Heero?" I asked, watching him, but now expertly smearing cheese on my bread.

The doc nodded. "My friends do call me that," he said it with his lips all twisted up on one side. I nodded and munched on bread.

"That's cool, Doc," I said it slowly, watching what he'd do.

Some expression flashed, and he frowned at me. "You can call me Heero."

"Whatever you say - Doc." I held a straight face for two seconds and started to laugh. He threw a piece of bread. Picking it up off my shirt, I dipped it right into the cheese goop. "Thanks, buddy. Needed another slice."

The usual turned out to be gyros with marinaded chicken, rice and a side salad. It was good and Doc - Heero, kept a running conversation going through the entire thing. At one point, the sauce from his gyro dripped from his lips and ran down his chin. Oh fuck. I went instantly hard and couldn't breath. All's I could think about was my dick in that mouth, and my come spilling over those lips. If he hadn't spoken, I think I would have dived over the table and licked it off.

"Duo? Is something wrong?" No, not at all. Other than the fact you're over there, and I'm here and we're in a public place where I can't do what I want to do to you.

"No, nothing at all." Just to prove how unwrong things were, I took a big bite of my own gyro. And if cucumber sauce ran down my lips, how was I supposed to know.

"You're a messy eater," Doc was saying. Could I help it that he was a bit breathy 'cause I licked my lips clean? "Maybe I should get you a bib." He was grinning, and handing me more napkins. I'd fucking dropped the back part of my gyro on my shirt.

Grumbling as I swiped at running goo, I told him, "spank me and start calling me baby, and it's over between us."

"Then I'll cross that one off my list." List? Jerking my head up to look at him, I almost dropped the napkins back in my lap. Fucking bastard was laughing at me.

"Why don't we go back to the getting to knowing each other for a bit?" he asked, and I was looking for a place to toss the wadded up mess in my hand. "What kinds of foods do you like best?"

"Ethnic or American?" I wound up putting the lump close to the wall.

"Whichever. What do you eat the most of in a week's time." He seemed genuinely interested, posed over his plate with his eyes on me waiting for my answer.

"Most of? Stadium food." I chuckled softly. "Seriously though, if we're talking American, I like a good steak, hamburger or pizza."

"Pizza's Italian."

"Nah, pizza's American, unless you know where to go." I stirred the rice on my plate, glaring at the leaves in it.

"And I suppose you do?" I didn't have to look at him to know he was laughing at me again.

"Of course," I told him, stabbing a large piece of diced tomato. Deliberately sliding the fork between parted lips, I pulled it from the tines with my teeth. Take that, Mister Suave-ay. "Maybe some day I'll introduce you to 'em."

""Italian would be your favorite ethnic, then?" Oh yeah. He was liking what I was showing.

"Bingo." I tossed in a wink just to make sure.

"Are you more a lasagna man? Or a manicotti?" He brought his water glass to his lips and took a drink.

"A month ago, I would have said..." I trailed off watching his tongue catch droplets off the glass rim. "...uh, would have said lasagna. But since then..." Shit. Now he was sucking an ice cube. "I've been introduced to the best fucking linguini this side of Sicily." I could tell eating a meal with this guy was dangerous.

Dion showed up about then. "I have nice galaktoboureko or some kadaifi. You want, no?" What? I looked at the doc for interpretation.

"Desserts. Glaktoboureko is a custard pastry. Kadaifi has honey and nuts - like baklava, only different."

A custard pastry sounded great, but I really couldn't eat any more. "I don't think so," I told Dion. "The food was too good. I can't eat another bite."

"Wrap two galaktobourekos to go," Doc said. My mouth snapped shut and I stared at him for a moment.

"Good. Good! I bring right back." And Dion did his bustling thing again, only I wasn't watching him this time.

"Unless you'd rather call it a night, I think we should move this conversation somewhere a little more comfortable," Heero said. I swallowed and felt the lump slide all the way down.

"Sure," I croaked, and took a hasty drink of water. "Your place ...or mine?" Fuck what a God awful line. If only so many sleazy guys hadn't used it before me.

Just by the way he was smiling, I was sure he knew what I'd been thinking as I said that. "I had thought my apartment. But if you'll be more comfortable at your place, we should go there."

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. It's the company, not the location."

Dion came back carrying a paper sack and the bill sleeve. Both Heero and I reached for our wallets. Doc glared at me. "This is my restaurant, my treat."

"Is that how it works? So, if I take you out to breakfast, it'd be my treat?"

He was nodding and it hit me. I expected to see this guy in the morning? I didn't have time to think about it then. Heero had already stood, and was saying goodbye to the old guy. I snatched one last olive from the plate, and grabbed my bag from underneath the table, doing my own goodbye thing with the great food and all shit to Dion. Then we were outside, and the doc was waving to a waiting taxi.

We were on our way somewhere and I kept sneaking looks in Heero's direction. He wasn't paying attention to me, but had leaned forward to give the cabbie instructions, and seeing his profile from the street light, I caught my breath. There was something about him that made me want to see how he was in the morning. To watch him wake up; find out if he was a grouch or was the perky sort or had morning wood. Yeah, and though my heart was hammering like a woodpecker to an infested tree, the thought was very nice.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Warnings and notes on the first chapter. Added note for this chapter through chapter seven: Duo is a little dense (or should I say, oblivious?). This chapter is also very angsty, with past story of abuse and death.

* * *

**Watch Me Spin**

**Chapter 5**

The doc's apartment was in one of those high-rise buildings in the thick of the city, like Quatre's. But where one was old and elegant, the other was aesthetically modern, all angles and glass. We rode the elevator up in silence; me still pondering if Heero sported wood in the morning, and him, shit - I don't know. He stood in the center of the car, staring straight-ahead carrying our damned pastries. Made me want to poke him, or kiss him or something. Yeah or something would be nice.

"I can make coffee or get you a beer. Anything?" he was saying as he keyed a series of numbers into a security pad next to the door.

I didn't want to stare, but it was a gadget. And it made the slightest of beeping tones. I felt like I was the next guy in line watching someone take money from an ATM, and shifted my attention a little to the left. His belt was brown with a gold buckle. And I was staring at his crotch. I liked the way his pants fit his front too.

"Duo?"

"Huh?" Damn, had to work on those conversation skills. "Oh, right. Coffee's fine if it isn't too much trouble."

He led the way inside and flipped a couple switches. Lights came up in the room beyond the entryway and I peered down the short hall curiously. "You can leave your bag here, unless you feel more comfortable keeping it with you," Heero was saying.

I focused on him, and noticed he had removed his shoes. His socks were black with dark blue and grey threads running a pattern through them. I set down my bag where he indicated, and toed off my own shoes, hoping I hadn't worn a pair so old, they were either threadbare or stained beyond hope. Maybe I should go shopping soon. Heavy, white cotton, and still new enough constant use hadn't beaten them down.

The living room was carpeted. And I don't mean that nappy Berber stuff; I mean thick plush pile, as cushy as my mattress at home. The doc continued around the room and exited through an arched doorway. I hurriedly followed.

"Nice place," I told him, with a quick glance around. Kitchen, gleaming appliances mostly in black and white with chrome trim.

"Thank you." He looked back at me, amused or something, pushing buttons on a machine under the cabinet. I moved closer.

"Fuck me! What the hell is that?" I blurted out. Damn, but if that wasn't the coolest fucking thing.

He did laugh this time. "A coffee maker." A finger hit the on button, and a small red light pulsed. "It's hooked up to the water supply, has compartments for three coffee bean flavors and two brew spouts." He shot me a grimace. "It also came with attachments for steaming milk."

When he moved away, I got a closer look. Damn but that was sweet. Compact and slick, I scoped out how the water came in, saw the vacuum seal where the coffee was stored, and even found how the steamer attachment was supposed to be attached. The red light stopped blinking and a green light came on.

"Are you sure you're a jock?" Heero asked, placing a couple of mugs on the counter. "I could go find a tool kit if you want a closer inspection."

"S'kay," I said, backing up. Fuck. I was acting like a ten-year-old with a new container of Legos. "I'll take you up on it next time." I grinned. His look told me he didn't believe what I was saying. "Quatre is still in awe over the sound quality difference of his speakers after I got a hold of them."

"Speakers?"

"Not your typical ones, man. They are so hooked up in circuitry to his music system it's like running a sound board." I nodded, blew on my coffee and took my first sip. Damn, it was good.

"You've ran a sound board?" he asked, and I peered at him over my cup. He sounded almost surprised. What? Because I'm good in sports, I wouldn't know anything else?

I grunted slightly and leaned a hip against the counter. "In high school and some in college." I shrugged. "I've the hots for all things electronic. Give me a board, a handful of circuits, nodes, resisters and some solder and I'm happy for hours."

"Electronics," he repeated like he was stunned. And then he shook his head. "I prefer the applications, the use of electronic items more than its components."

"Software more than hardware?" I murmured, blowing on my coffee again. My words caught him in the middle of a sip, and he gulped instead.

"More the application of both, than one specifically," he shot back at me. My lips twitched, and I watched him watch me. Yeah, this guy was going to be more than a handful. "The couch is in the other room," he said by way of suggestion.

Taking the hint, I led us back the way we came in and stopped by what he'd called the couch. It was like a narrow bed that didn't stop at the usual six feet. And was more plush than the carpet. In a soft tan even. And that made me think of his questions earlier. I scanned the room quickly and found a single painting the only item of color outside of those earthy browns and creams in the room.

I shot a look at Heero, and he was doing something with a stereo system I made a mental note to check out later, and sat my cup down on low table in front of the bed-couch thing. The painting drew me closer, and just in how it was presented, I knew it was showcased on purpose. It wasn't a seascape, exactly, but wasn't of land either. Blues melded into blue, swirled with black highlighted in grey. Dashes of green, violent splashes of red and a despondency of yellow. Even I could tell the artist was disturbed.

Music set at low volume, sounded from hidden speakers surrounding the room; instrumental but not quite classical, soothing but not boring. What'd the old kings and queens call it? Chamber music. Conventional pieces to talk over without hearing. I felt him at my back before he said anything.

"It's my favorite." His voice was so low and respectful; I turned to look at him. He was staring at the painting as if nothing else existed. "It holds a power I've yet to find its equal." And then he looked at me. "What do you think?"

"The artist could use a good shrink," I told him. In this light, the blue of his eyes mellowed. No longer the sharp stabbing color it'd been in the coffeehouse, but no less intense. Maybe it was the mood of the music and the painting or maybe it was me. I wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips against mine, and taste how the coffee tasted on his tongue. I wanted to feel his heart pounding beneath my fingers on his chest and I wanted to find out if holding him was as good as I was imagining it to be.

"She would have benefitted from one," he returned quietly and his eyes flashed to the painting again.

"You knew her?" I continued to watch him and he nodded. "Not that I'm an expert, but it's good. Dark, though it's full of color." He nodded again and his eyes flicked to look at me. "And hope, though it shows nothing but despair." He let out a little shuddering sigh thing, and I caught the end of it in my mouth. Just a quick press of flesh to flesh and I drew back. Now I had all his attention.

"The artist was my mother," he said simply and stepped away towards the couch. Shit. How the fuck would I have known? I shot a glare at the mental institution artwork and went to join him on the couch.

"Ah, I'm sorry if what I said..." Heero held a hand up.

"You didn't say anything that hasn't been said before, that I haven't thought myself." He sat at one corner in a relaxed pose, legs crossed with an ankle on a thigh.

Sitting in the middle of that fucking long-ass couch wasn't what I wanted, but it was either that, or shout from across the room. Made me wonder if he did that on purpose. I fiddled with my coffee mug, not sure what to say, and tried to think of a way to get back to that comfortable spot we were at in the kitchen.

"Tell me what you hoped to get out of ...therapy," the doc asked.

I jerked, nearly spilling coffee on myself, and set the cup down in a hurry. "I told you. I'm a top."

"You keep saying that," he said, leaning forward towards me. "It makes me wonder who you're trying to convince. That if you say it enough even, no one will stop to ask anything else." I wanted to say something, wanted to tell him there's not convincing when it's true, but nothing would come out. "Why do you do that?"

"Isn't that part of why I'm here?" I threw back at him. Dinner must have been too much, 'cause my stomach was doing that little knotted dance.

The problem was I don't think Heero liked what I said. He stared at me for the longest minute, and I felt like I used to back playing ball - the whole, bases loaded, two strikes, bottom of the ninth feeling that what I said next, what I did next would determine how everything would turn out.

"I'd like to tell you something that goes against what you might have been told." He uncrossed his legs and slid closer to me. When we were sitting close and more or less like opposite bookends, he said, "I don't think you need therapy. I don't think you need to see anyone about your... problem. And no matter what does, or doesn't, happen here tonight, I don't want it to be any part of some therapy."

His words sounded alien to me, and it took a moment for all of it to sink in. "That," my voice cracked and I cleared my throat. "That would be good."

"It would be," he repeated watching me. I wanted to look away, his eyes were so intense. "I want to find out all there is about Duo Maxwell. If you'll let me, I am here to listen to whatever you have to say."

The way he was staring at me, that soft piercing look in his eyes and the sensory overload his hand was making stroking my thigh, I felt torn. Part of me wanted nothing more than to crawl in his lap to be stroked and petted all night. Part of me wanted to jump him right there, and the other part wanted to bolt from his apartment as if it were on fire. Being the weakest link, it took the walk and the other two compromised by letting me kiss him.

The only problem was, those parts of me didn't tell Heero that. A hand on my chest stopped forward progression and I wound up blinking at him. What the fuck was his problem? I knew I hadn't misread him; he'd wanted this just as much as I had. So what's the deal?

"I think we need to talk first," he was saying, those fucking eyes looking right through me.

I sat back, releasing the grip I didn't know I had on his shirt. "Wadda ya wanna talk about?" More than a little disappointed, talking was the last thing I wanted his mouth doing - unless it had to do with instructing me how to do him.

"You," he said simply. Bastard. He knew what I was thinking; I could see it in his eyes and the way he kept trying to not smile.

"We've been doing that all night." Okay, so I whined a bit. "We should talk about you."

Heero only nodded and stood. "Fair enough. Let me lower the lights, and then we can get comfortable."

While he fiddled with a remote and lights were being adjusted, I thought of removing clothing. Preferably his, but mine would work just as well. I would be comfortable. He was chuckling and I glared at him.

"You look like I took your favorite Tonka away from you," he said taking a seat, his back against the couch arm and one leg bent at the knee with its foot planted on the couch cushion. A very inviting pose.

"Looks like you're trying to give me my Tonka back," I voiced at a murmur, eyeing the spread legs.

Snapping fingers held low brought my attention up. "Talk." I nodded reluctantly. "But if you'll allow me," he paused, and I leaned forward like a bitch in heat. "I'd like to hold you." What?

I recoiled a bit and stared at him. "Huh?" See, conversational skills.

"Hold you. I want you to become comfortable." With the lights muted low, I had trouble seeing what he was thinking now. "And you might find it easier to talk not facing me."

It felt as though he'd asked me to jump from an airplane. But a part of me really wanted to, and the part that wanted to fuck him agreed - I'm sure it was thinking that if I gave into Heero now, Heero'd give into me later, the horny bastard. Never let it be said I was too afraid to do something I didn't want to do. I crawled over the couch, stayed kneeling in front of him for a moment and, reading only that tender expression he'd offered once before, I turned and sat.

Straight up and like a board, but I was officially in his lap, sort of. I felt him shift around back there, and his breath blew on the back of my neck and was gone. Then the pads of his fingers began to rub on my shoulders. Softly at first, the longer we talked, the more pressure he applied.

"What would you like to know about me?" his voice came from somewhere behind me.

What did I want to know about him? Other than the waking up in the morning thought, and if he fisted using the left or right hand. Did I want to know about his past lovers? Did I want to find out about how he became a doctor?

"Your mother. Tell me about her. About that painting." I hadn't even realized I said anything until his fingers stopped and started again.

"When I was young, we lived in the mountains above Kyoto," he intoned. "She was a popular artist, and her paintings sold well." I tilted my head and looked at the wall. Yeah, even I could see that. "She often would tell me stories of my father. He had been an American officer stationed at Kyoto." I tried to analyze his voice, but it was too flat, too low to tell what was going on inside his head. "He was killed in a training accident just after I was born."

I shifted around to look at him, leaning against an arm to do so. "You don't have to talk about this. I don't..."

"It's all right. I never knew him," he interrupted me. His hands on my shoulders, he turned me back around. "There were times I wished I had. From the way mother spoke of him, he must have been a good man." I grunted a response. I knew how that one went, having lived through someone else's reminiscences.

"She never got over his death. She was always sad and her paintings show it." His fingers had moved down my arms, touched my hands and glided back up. "We were very isolated where we lived. The nearest neighbors several miles away. But every two or three days, we'd walk down to the village for items we'd need."

I could hear the smile and the sadness in his voice. "It was lonely, but... I remember liking our home. I remember the panels she'd painted, and the scroll on the wall." His chin rested on my shoulder. "She loved growing things, and we had a small orchard in the back. And she had a garden and grew a lot of her own vegetables. Very few flowers though."

Heero's voice was at my ear, and his hands were on my chest, on my abdomen. And I was leaning against him. For half a second, I was disturbed I'd relaxed so much, but what the hell. It felt nice; he felt nice.

"I was six when she died." He said it in such a way it was like he was talking about someone else. My hand closed over one of his. "She just didn't wake up one morning." I felt him shift at my back, a deep breath drawn in expanding his chest. "I had to walk to the village on my own to find someone to help take care of her." He fell silent, and all I could picture was this small boy with blue eyes and dark brown hair trying to wake his mother. It must have been one hell of a long walk. I squeezed his hand.

"What happened after..." I fumbled, not sure how to phrase the rest of the question.

He stirred slightly; his arms tightened a fraction and released. "I went to live with her father." Just by the tone alone, I knew he hadn't been pleased with that. "Until he sent me to the states, to my father's family. I've lived here since."

It got quiet for a bit then. At about the time he was going through what he did, I was having some of the same problems. "I lived in an orphanage for awhile when I was eight." Other than his hand tightening on mine, he didn't do anything else. "When it closed down, the state moved me to foster care. I was there 'til I started college."

"What happened to your family?" his voice a whisper in my hair.

The smell of the woods, clear and sharp filled my nose suddenly, making my eyes smart. I could almost hear my brother calling to me, yelling in his excitement at our game. "Luke. They used to call me Luke. My brother was Solo." I blinked several times. "Mom was pregnant with him when Star Wars came out." I let out a little laugh. "She was so in love with Harrison Ford. And Solo was always Hans. I was always Luke Skywalker. We had a dog we called Chewie and we would pretended he was a wookie." His bark sounded in my ears, the image of his long red hair in the sunlight flashed. "He was an Irish Setter."

"It's okay, Duo. It's okay," his voice soothed. My heart was pounding; I could barely breathe, though my chest heaved. "Ssh… You're okay. It's all in the past," he continued to murmur.

I made a stabbing swipe of my hand at my eyes. "The bastard killed him." There'd been so much blood, and Solo whimpered. It'd been the first time I'd ever seen him cry. "He used to..." My chest hurt, it was on fire. "He used to..." My hands clenched into fists. "He would hurt him, at night. After Mom left for work." And I'd lay in my bed, too afraid to move; afraid if I did, he would hurt me too. He'd make me bleed like I'd seen Solo bleed.

"Oh Duo." Heero's arms were pulling me close, and his face was pressed to my neck.

Fuck me if I wasn't crying either. God damn it to hell! I don't fucking cry for twenty years, and suddenly I was like a baby. Wiping at my eyes, I tried to get my breathing under control. It'd been so long ago, what the hell did it matter now?

"Your mother, did she..." the question tentative against my skin.

Shaking my head, I took a hitching breath and closed my eyes. "Not until the cops hauled his ass away. Not until the autopsy." I could picture her standing on the concrete steps, grief still so fresh from the news 'bout Solo. And the cops pulling him fighting, swearing and yelling, shoving his ass into the cop car. "She wanted to blame me for not saying anything." And her eyes turning to me after they'd driven off, accusing me of letting it happen.

I was struggling to breathe again, and it took me a second to realize it was Heero's arms squeezing my chest and not me. His reaction took me by surprise; his objectivity must be shot to fucking hell. And that thought made me smile a little.

"Was it your father?" he asked cautiously.

"No," I said shaking my head. "He died when I was two or three." Photographs I barely remembered seeing, flickered like a broken film strip. A wedding. A couple and a baby. A family. There weren't any after that. "She thought we needed a role model. A man around the place." After the cops brought Solo 'n me home for the third time that summer; Solo had got caught smoking, and me hanging out, learning how to swipe candy when the store clerks weren't looking.

"Your step-father then?" Heero was murmuring into my hair and I tilted my head to look at him. His eyes were closed and he opened them slowly.

"Yeah," I whispered softly, shifting around a bit. He looked more lost than I felt, and I wormed an arm up and over his neck. We were fucking clinging to each other like the only survivors on a life raft. And in a way, we were. "Mom worked nights, mostly. And sitters didn't work out." One more interested in her boyfriend than the kids she was supposed to watch. Several too young - just barely older than us, but they needed the money, and Mom too desperate to find someone older.

"Solo 'n me, we spent a lot of time in the woods behind our place." As soon as Mom would come home, we'd be out the door. "'hunner acre woods, he called it." Our special place we'd go, to hide from him, so we didn't have to listen to him fuck her, so he couldn't touch us when she'd fall asleep after. "He was Hans Solo, and I was called Luke, then." We had a tree fort that'd fall apart every time the wind blew.

"And you're called Duo now..." it was a question.

Sighing a bit, cause this part was just odd, and no matter how much I try to work it out for myself, I'd never understood. I found myself staring at that painting, and again I thought of Heero, six fucking years old, walking down some mountain track after finding his mother dead. A swirl of white cresting in turbulent blue caught me.

"She killed herself during the trial. She couldn't take it." The state had taken me away after the fucker was gone. But by then, Mom was considered an unfit parent. She'd lost everything and people had taken to spitting on her in the streets, letting her little boy be used that way. "I was moved up north, to where most folks had never heard of me and my brother." Looking at him again, I gave a short smile. He had such a bleak look in his eyes now. "When the judge asked, I told him Duo. I wanted to be called Duo." Because Solo 'n me, we were Mom's dynamic pair.

Heero closed his eyes again, and laid his head against mine. Shit. I hugged his shoulders, and gave the side of his head a little kiss. One of his hands slipped down to grip my hip and he buried his face further in my neck. He was going to have me bawling in a minute.

"So," I ask almost gruffly, suddenly wanting the subject to change. "What's with the painting?"

The hand on my hip gave a reflexive spasm. And without looking, Heero mumbled against my collar, "It was my mother's." I waited for him to continue, my breathing slowed to a normal rate and the horror show of my life faded. My eyes were tracing a particularly long sweeping pattern when he did speak again.

"She started it the year she died." He lifted his head away, glanced in the painting's direction and then back to me. "Her father got rid of all her other paintings. It took me years to hunt this one down." He looked at it again. "I'd never forgotten it." A deep, shuttering breath shook his frame. "That hint of hope you saw in it," he nodded towards the wall, looking at me now. "I used to think that was me giving her something to believe in."

I stared at the painting some more, feeling how it matched this melancholy mood that settled around us. The hand on my hip had slipped farther down, and Heero ran it lightly over my upper thigh in almost gentle strokes. He held me, but I was holding him, with his head still pressed to my shoulder and my arm around his neck. In the past, the only times I'd let anyone hold me was during that post-coital glow, and then for only as long as it took to catch my breath. Not even Quatre had I ever let this close, let him hold me. And yet, Doc just felt ...right, somehow.

As though it'd happened days ago instead of hours, I pictured him in the coffeehouse, showing me his strength, and his reserve. Our walk to the café showed his determination and resolve. And dinner revealed so much promise, and his sense of humor. But here in his home and with me, he gave the gift of his vulnerability. The difference on how he was before and what he displayed now was not lost on me. This man I held was just as private on the inside as I was, and yet...

He stirred, and my hand tightened on his arm. I didn't want to lose this acceptance despite all feeling and slid my hand up to caress his hair. "Do you ever miss her?" I asked quietly, eyes still tracking the sweeping lines.

"Sometimes," he answered without hesitation. He wiggled around the couch and against my side a bit, reminding me of what a puppy would do to snuggle with its littermates, making me smile. "How 'bout you? You miss..." his question trailed off, and he gave a slight snort, pulling away from me.

"It's alright," I answered hastily, holding onto him. "Yeah, I do. Solo mostly, but Mom... yeah." Mom as I remembered her when I was younger, when she'd read to us. Mom in the kitchen baking cookies. And Mom giving me that goodnight hug, tucking me into bed. I wished I could forget the look in her eyes the day they told her her oldest had died and why.

Dropping my head back against the couch, I blinked up at the ceiling. "I'm tired, Heero."

His arm squeezed me gently, his voice soft in my ear, "would you like to go to bed then?"

"Yes," I whispered, then "no." I sighed. "I don't know." I lifted my head, and shifted around to look at him. "I want this ...emptiness to stop."

He watched me for a long moment, and I resisted the urge to flee again. Come hell or high water, this night was going to happen. At last he nodded. "All right. Let's go to bed then."

And like an actor in the audience on opening night, the surreal feel of the moment washed over me. Heero standing and taking my hand, him leading me down the hall to his room and the door closing on all I knew before, knowing that when it opened again, everything would be changed.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Warnings and notes on the first chapter. Added note for this chapter through chapter seven: Duo is a little dense (or should I say, oblivious?). This chapter is also contains sexual situations/sex.

* * *

**Watch Me Spin**

**Chapter 6**

The door hadn't completely closed before I was tugging on his hand, pulling him into me. Just because I was letting him pilot the plane for the landing, didn't mean I had to give up the takeoff or in-flight control. I was a top, after all. I'd caught him mid-step, thrown him off-balance, and he fell against my chest. His hand still clutched in my grasp, I palmed his jaw with my other, and tilted his face up. And his lips were mine.

Those brief, flighty kisses exchanged before were nothing like what we did then. Doc was quick on his feet, quick to regain any lost advantage, and competition was fierce. He shook his hand free from my hold, allowing me to frame his head in both my hands. He wasn't moving any time soon if I had anything to say about it.

His tongue was a rolling, writhing thing in my mouth, dancing the fandango with mine. Damn, I'd never been turned on more by someone else's parts in me. I heard myself moan around his lips, and his tongue retreated. My hands tightened around his face; my mouth dove after his.

Coolness, laced with warmth touched the skin above my hip. In a vague sense I knew he'd pulled my shirt loose; the material bunched on his arm as his hand slid up my back. It was his other hand I should have been more aware of. While I fought for control of the kiss, he'd planted a firm grip on my ass, and pulled me crashing into him, pelvis leading the way.

Just watching the guy had left me half-hard for most of the night. Actually having his tongue down my throat gave me a boner that wouldn't quit. And then he slams his against mine? He fought dirty, and scored points someone somewhere was keeping. At that moment, there was no fucking way I could add more than one and one, and that was him and me and nothing else counted.

I broke away; a gasping moan dragged out from my gut. Heero had to have been made of steel or iron or something, cause he went right for my throat, as though he wasn't bothered by the grinding he was doing. Or the returned thrusting I managed. Giving in had never felt this good. Letting him show me how he worked that mouth after wanting nothing but all night was how it was supposed to be, right?

My head lolled back on my neck, my hands dropped to his shoulders, holding on. His arm supported my back, and his hand drove me crazy, working my thrusts with his. And his tongue licked at the skin right where my collarbone poked through the opening of my shirt. His mouth made these great sucking sounds on the juncture between my shoulder and neck. And all I could do was gasp, and moan, and pray to fucking God he'd never quit.

That tormenting mouth found its way back up, stopping to bite on my chin before landing where it belonged. I sucked on his lips, now tasting of salty sweat, and opened my mouth eagerly for more of him. Somewhere along the line, my eyes had closed, so lost to the sensations he fed me. Hand on flesh, fingers tightening their grasp on my ass, lips and mouth heating, cool and shocking against skin.

Again with the sweaty taste and the voice in my head that never quits prodded me aware. I was tasting me. I was tasting my filthy, stinking sweat on his mouth. Abruptly I stopped. My eyes opened and I was pushing on his chest.

Heero stared at me, a bit shocked, but concerned. "Duo?" he asked, still panting. He hadn't let me go, and my skin crawled, thinking of how it must feel under his fingertips.

"Uh..." I hedged. Fuck. What was I thinking? Scratch that, I wasn't. At least not in the way it counted. "Heero, I don't think we should..." His hand slid out from beneath my shirt slowly, and he rubbed my back through it. I couldn't look him in the face, and my eyes darted around the room, avoiding his eyes. His comforter was white.

"It's okay, Duo," he was saying, pulling me into an embrace that had nothing to do with sex. Staring at his bed, I could almost see the lines of that painting hanging in the next room. The gradual sweep of blue, so many hues fading into a gray with touches of white.

"I'm dirty," I mumbled against his shoulder, calmer than from a moment before. My chest was feeling tight, suddenly, and my eyes were stinging. I refused to cry. Instead, I pushed back against him. "I need to go home, take a shower. Stuff." I didn't want him to touch me, my being all dirty.

Heero chuckled, amused. Almost pissed me off, like he was patronizing me or something. "I do have a shower. And it works too."

"Oh." The thought hadn't crossed my mind.

"If you wouldn't mind company," he was saying, tugging my shirt up. "I'd like to join you." Heero stepped back slowly, my shirt hanging from his hand. "I could use a shower myself." His smile was short and tight, but his eyes were telling me he wanted this, he wanted me.

I stifled a shudder and nodded. He wasn't going to try anything or he'd find out first hand just what Greg had. Besides, I was aware people did shower together without having sex. Just because I'd never done so, didn't mean that was the norm. I undid my buckle and watched Heero pull his shirt free of his pants. Fuck me, but he was one beautiful man.

"I was twenty-one my first time," he was saying, bent over pulling a sock off. "I thought I was in love." He straightened, gave me a rueful smile and dropped the sock to the floor. "She thought she was in love, too." What? "We met..."

"She?" I interrupted.

Heero nodded, completely nude now. "She. Until I'd met her, my life revolved around a plan. Of reaching a goal set before me when I was still a child." His eyes unfocused for a moment, and I got the feeling he wasn't thinking of me. Damn. And here I was ready to do something stupid to attract his attention. "We're still friends." His shrug was casual enough.

So, how to phrase what I wanted to know. "You're..." I bit my lip. Dropping my jeans down, I stepped out of them. "...bi?"

"I don't know if one experience with a woman makes a person bi or not. I like to think of those I meet without labels, though."

I glanced up and he stood there watching me, not at all uncomfortable in his own skin. Shit. And I was the one who worked around men, showered with them, touched them just as naked as he was. I guess it goes to show the difference when knowing someone's going to fuck you and knowing it's never going to happen. Looking him over, I couldn't help licking my lips.

"You work out." Master of the clichÃ© I am.

Heero only smiled and jerked his head towards the side. "Come on. Bathroom's this way." He strode away, giving me one fine ass view. Just watching him walk, my cock got hard and I followed, pulling off my socks along the way.

The bathroom was all tile and chrome. And huge. And Heero was leaning into the shower, adjusting something that looked like belonged in a cockpit. Water started and I stepped closer to see as he turned. He must have gotten caught in the spray for tiny droplets beaded on his bangs. A drop ran down the ridge of his nose and I forgot to be interested in anything else. Suddenly, he was in front of me, his hand my hair, barely touching it.

"Oh shit." I pulled away. Still wasn't ready for that, no matter how close he was getting. "Can't get the hair wet or it'll be hours before it dries." A quick glance around didn't show me a thing I could use to pin it up.

The doc only nodded. "I think I have something," was all he said and then was gone.

Well, shit. I stood on the bath mat, staring at the door. What the hell was I supposed to do? Stand and wait? Sit and wait? I looked at the toilet and shook my head. He probably thought I was enough of a freak as it was.

Music started playing, something different from when we were in the living room, but still no vocals. Its beat faster, more pulsing and I looked for the speakers. I had the feeling Doc changed the tunes to something a little more heated. Not that I minded in the least. Though it was amusing thinking of him wandering around the place with his dick hanging out. His nearly erect dick. Just thinking about him, I touched myself.

It was like he was there, standing behind me, with his hand on my cock instead of my own. I was only lightly touching it; it was hard enough. If I closed my eyes, I could picture him, smell him, and imagining his fucking me did nothing more than make me harder. I wanted to come. Right then. I wanted that release so bad, I thought of jumping in the shower and flipping it to pure cold.

Of fucking course he would walk back in at that moment, me with my hand on my cock and mouth open in a pant. But damn, he was cool. He stopped for only a second, his eyes widening on what I was doing, and then he grinned. His cock jumped on its own.

"Need some help with that?" he delivered that stupid cheesy line with such a growl, I shuddered. It made me wonder if just hearing him talk to me could make me come - no hands, no mouth, no touching. Another mental note taken to ask him if he'd be willing to try one of these days.

Giving my dick another stroke, I grinned back, and dragged my eyes up from his very hard cock. "A hand would be nice."

He was standing in front of me, a bare dick-length away - I knew this because if he moved another centimeter or two, my dick would be rubbing his thigh. He reached behind me, gathering my braid in his hands. It was then I noticed what he held.

"Chopsticks?" I had to laugh.

"Chopsticks." His eyes flicked downward, meeting mine. He was smiling. It felt odd, someone else's hands messing with my hair. But, I leaned into him, lifted my hands to his hips, giving him free access to do what he needed. His cock twitched against mine. Fuck, I wasn't going to last.

He must have finished whatever it was he wanted to do, for his hands dropped to my shoulders. I stared at him, wondering what was next and his cock jumped again. "Shower," he mouthed, pushing on me, turning me around.

The water was warm, pretty damn near perfect between not too hot and nowhere near cold. The showerhead looked like it'd been designed by NASA, and I looked closer at that cockpit control panel thing Doc was fussing with. This apartment was more state-of-the-art than the local Best Buy! Temp control and water flow regulator? To take a shower? Fuck me. But it was nice.

"Too hot?" he asked, standing behind me, but not too close. I shook my head and dragged my attention from the shower controls. "And no, you're not to touch that. I don't care to be scalded, thanks."

I offered up a sheepish grin, shifted a bit awkwardly. Now what? If it'd been me and anybody else, nothing would have stopped me from initiating contact, of getting him into a position most enjoyable. But it was Doc, and I had the idea he had some sort of plan.

Heero moved closer, and reached up, removing the showerhead from its bracket. "If you'll let me, I'd like to wash you," he was saying spraying himself down. I opened my mouth - to give protest or acceptance, I wasn't sure at that moment, but instead remained quiet. "I won't touch you anywhere you don't want me to, and if anything I do makes you feel uncomfortable, just let me know." He'd finished getting himself wet, and stood looking at me, the showerhead still clutched in his hand and spraying the floor.

"All right," I agreed, swallowing. I could play this game. I could let him drive for a bit, see where he'd take it. Besides, it'd give me the chance to just look at him. That thought made my cock jump. Yeah, this was going to work out just fine.

The showerhead was turned on me, next. Trickling heat trailed in rivulets from shoulders to calves with the pulsing wet streams he moved over me. He stepped close, an inch or maybe two separated us. I watched his eyes as they flickered over my body, monitoring his motions. Heero looked so serious, so focused on what he was doing. I leaned forward and kissed his nose. He jerked back a half step and looked at me. And grinned.

He reached up around me to replace the nozzle, pressing his shower-warm and definitely wet body against mine. I think he used a little more skin to skin contact than what was necessary, but hey, I wasn't complaining. The soap he used was of the liquid kind in a scent I didn't recognize and as long as it didn't clog the nostrils, I didn't care what it smelled like. He used his hands.

Slippery, but firm, his hands were everywhere - fingers up around my ears, along my jaw, palms covering my neck and gliding over shoulders. And I stood there soaking it up, my own hands resting on his shoulders or arms or on the tiled wall. He was on his knees, looking up at me, asking for permission. Looking down at him, I gave it. His hands lingered on my ass, squeezing the cheeks and watching me. I flexed buns of steel, and got flashed a smile. He brought one of his hands around front and just as he spread the foaming lather around my balls, a soapy finger ran the length between my cheeks.

The jump didn't surprise him. At least I didn't hit him.

"Just washing, Duo," he intoned, his hand almost caressing in its touch. With what his other hand was doing in front, I lost focus on the one on my ass. By then, I was so fucking hard, I thought I'd come with just his touch. He didn't waste time lathering my cock much, but got a stroke or two in.

I was turned to face the spray, and Heero sluiced water up, using his hands to rinse the suds off my torso. His chest flush against my back, his cock wedged itself between my thighs. Its length foreign with its presence, and yet it was all I could do to keep from moving my ass. Having been right where he was now many times, I knew being so close to the target was like being on third base, and the batter hitting a line drive to the shortstop; home base teased with nearness. A lot of me wanted to tease him by wiggling home plate.

Thoughts of making him as crazy as he was making me fled when his hands moved lower. His mouth started at my neck and trailed over my shoulders, keeping pace with his hands. He turned us to where the water now cascading on his back, leaving his hands on my hips.

"The first man I was with," his words were coming to me from far away and not just behind my ear. One hand holding me, moved to fist my cock and didn't give me a chance to think, let alone hear anything. "Was older, and a good teacher. He showed me things I don't think I could have learned with anyone else." As he was speaking, he lowered himself back to his knees; his hand still wrapped around my dick.

"Tell me if you don't want this," his voice vibrated the flesh of my ass. I was breathing in ragged, gasping breaths, my hands braced on the shower door and the tiled wall. The incongruous feel of the cool tile, the warm water and the neutral door only added to the assault on my senses. There was no way I was going to stop whatever he was doing. It felt too fucking good.

I expected his hand to touch me, the one that wasn't pumping me into oblivion. But when his tongue did, I jerked away in surprise. He rubbed a hip soothingly, but continued to breathe and suck at the inside of my cheek. It wasn't as though I'd never been touched there, but I'd never been touched with the idea of penetration ever happening. And penetrate he did. Just a little pressure, his breath hot, his tongue hotter and his hand jerking me off distracting as hell.

Confused would have named my condition mildly. And fuck me sideways, but my body didn't know if it wanted to fuck his hand or fuck his face; thrust forward or back. That double sensation, him wrapped around my cock lightly stroking it, and his tongue stuck in my ass, keeping time. And before I'd only thought I needed to come. His name became a mantra I shouted. So close to coming I ceased, froze where I stood and he stopped.

"Not yet, Duo," he panted, resting his cheek against mine. His fingers pressed in that magic place that keeps most men from spurting. Well, at least it kept me from doing it.

My legs were getting shaky, and when Heero worked his way around to kneel in front of me, I wanted to drop to the stall floor and kiss him. He stared up at me, his hands running up and down my legs. His eyes were so fucking gorgeous he should be illegal. Settling his hands on my hips, his mouth closed over my dick.

I died. I know I had to have. Lips, tongue and mouth, pressure sucking and swallowing. Watching his head bob the length of my cock, watching my flesh disappear into his mouth, there was no fucking way I could stop from coming. Nothing, not even that magical spot was going to help. I think I managed a warning, but believe he was prepared. He pulled back just enough to touch his tongue to my cockhead.

Long ropy threads shot from my cock, and I watched him lick at the first and then move his face about, letting me come over his lips, his chin, his nose, cheeks and even a brow. When I collapsed against the wall, he swallowed my dick again, cleaning it, sucking out the last of the come and I fought to keep from pulling away; at any other time his taste buds wouldn't have been felt. Now they tickled, made me shiver.

Slowly, other sensations returned. The surf's tide receded from my ears to where only the water hitting the stall floor and my own breathing could be heard. Nerves I never knew I had were pounding a throbbing beat from navel to crotch, and a vague impression that tingled inside as well as out around my ass. It wasn't until he pulled his hand away that I realized he'd been finger fucking me.

"You all right?" he asked, slipping up between my braced arms.

My come cris-crossed his face, dripped from his chin, and he looked sexier than hell. Still breathless, I attacked his lips, sucking the taste of me from his mouth, and rubbed my face with his. At that moment, he could have suggested anything to me, and I would have done it. Feeling his cock jabbing into my groin, tasting my own come in his mouth, my dick got hard again. Damn, I was feeling fucking fantastic.

"I think you need to show me what else you know," I managed, still supporting my upright position on bent arms.

Heero laughed silently, his chest moved against mine and I tried to glare but wound up smiling instead. I rested my face on a shoulder facing down. Steam rose in misting rolls about his ankles, and the scent of his soap tickled my nose. It made me think of Irish Spring, but more woodsy and less harsh. With almost a jolt, Heero was working me away from the wall, and my support, back into the spray.

"For tonight," he was saying before dipping his face into the water's flow. "I'll show you something." I splashed water on my own face. "The rest I'll save for other times." And I shivered.

Looking at him, I realized how serious he was. From almost the start he'd been hinting at more, suggesting more. This wasn't going to be a meeting of a few hours, nor was it a one-night kind of thing. He wanted ...a relationship? I knew I was doing that freight train through my nose noise, but it couldn't be helped. It was no longer anywhere near therapy. It wasn't even in the ballpark. I felt like I'd hit a homerun with the bases loaded, but had no clue where first base was.

"What are we doing?" I finally forced out through numb lips.

"Besides taking a shower?" he asked softly. I could see it in his eyes he knew exactly what I meant. "Maybe we should take this to the other room." He reached around me and pressed a button; the spray stopped instantly. His hand dropped to my arm, and he squeezed the shoulder joint in a gentle grasp. "It's going to be okay, Duo."

I nodded and moved to the now open door. "Whatever you say, Heero," I mumbled. Limbs stiff, I reached for a towel hanging on the rack.

"Duo," Heero was right behind me. I didn't answer, but instead dragged the thick cotton over wet skin. "Duo!" he said with a little more force, and I'll be damned if he didn't pull me around like we were in some romance movie. "You're hyperventilating. Stop it!" He was shaking me like the proverbial rag doll and I had to grip his arms to remain standing.

"Okay! Knock off the whiplash technique." We were locked in an odd tableau, his fingers digging into the flesh of my shoulders, mine into the flesh of his arms. My breathing returned to a rate little more normal with me staring at his chest.

"Listen, Duo," he was speaking in a calm, low voice. "Tonight can be as much or as little as you want. We can stop right now, if that's your choice." His fingers eased off and instead of claws ripping into my shoulder, they became soothing pads. "You can go home, go on with your life as it was and we'll never see each other again."

I nodded, still not meeting his eyes. Feeling a little ridiculous, I let him bend down and pick up my towel and even drape it on my shoulders. "Thanks," I mumbled, and began to dry off.

Heero remained quiet as he used his own towel. From the corner of my eyes, I kept catching him watching me. When I was dry and uncertain what to do with the now wet towel, he pulled it from my hand. "Here," he said, handing me a robe. It was one of those really thick, white ones you see hanging in the bathroom of expensive hotels, but without the monogram.

After I'd put it on and cinched the belt, I noticed Heero wore a matching one, but in blue. And I only thought his eyes were fucking gorgeous before. He caught me staring and frowned just a little. I was about to apologize, for looking, for being a jerk, for ruining the good time we were having, for whatever, when he stepped up close, touched my face and kissed me.

"I don't think you'll be needing these." His hands were in my hair, and a heavy thump hit my back. Oh, right. Chopsticks. He started to turn away, and I grabbed his arm.

"Hey, I-I'm sorry about that," I stumbled some. "It's just that... well, shit..."

"It's okay. I told you it was and I mean it." He tossed those sticks towards the sink, and jerked his head to the door. "Let's go sit, okay?" I nodded and followed him out.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Warnings and notes on the first chapter. Added note for this chapter through chapter seven: Duo is a little dense (or should I say, oblivious?). This chapter is also contains sexual situations/sex.

* * *

**Watch Me Spin**

**Chapter 7**

A couple of steps into the room, and I stopped. Heero was half-way to the bed and looked back. Was this it then? The final stage of whatever was going to happen? I looked at the door and didn't need to be prodded to remember the hollowness waiting on the other side. He was going to leave it up to me what happened. Where and how far we were going to take this - whatever this was. I looked at him again but he appeared neutral. Goddamn. I was on my own in this.

"We can go sit on the couch if you prefer," he finally offered, not moving.

From him to the bed to the door to my jeans and back, it was like I couldn't make up my mind where I wanted to look let alone be. "It's white," I told him instead.

"The sheets are blue." Fucker didn't even seem surprised I said that. And he kept watching me.

My eyes shot over to the bed and for a moment I wondered if they were light blue, or a darker one - more to match his eyes. But then, what the hell did that matter? The problem was, did I want more? I believed if I were to suggest topping him, he'd be receptive.

"Why?"

"Most people have blue comforters and white sheets," he answered immediately. I gave him a short smile, even to let him know I knew he didn't misunderstand what I was asking. He simply raised a shoulder but I caught the reddening when he looked down. "I would like to say that initially it was something more, but," his eyes rose up locking on my face. It made my head spin, and not the one attached to my neck. "when you introduced yourself at the coffeehouse, I wanted you. In just a few short minutes, no one before had ever made me," his lips twisted. "lust for them like you did."

He was doing a number on me and I knew then that he could make me come with just his voice - and choice of words. "The feeling's mutual," I half mumbled, and rubbed at the sudden stabbing pain beneath my sternum. I must be getting heartburn. Goddamn dinner. Last time I eat Greek.

"At least, that was from the start. After we started talking, and you were telling me about you, I felt," again with the shoulder thing. "I don't know. A connection or something pretty close to it."

When I've worked on circuit boards in the past, there've been times when whatever tool I'm using would slip and hit an electrode. The jolt felt would be a little startling, maybe a little irritating, and would sometimes ruin a board. The jolt he sent along our supposed connection prodded me to move and I was standing before him, trying to keep from touching him, from kissing him. Anything physical, and that'd be it.

"When we talked out there," Heero jerked his chin in the vague direction of the door. "I knew I wanted whatever you were willing to give me. But with the whole doctor thing, I didn't want whatever we did associated with therapy."

"What you did in there," it was my turn to do that jerking thing with my chin. "I didn't think of as therapy." I gave him a goofy grin and he rolled his eyes. But it got a smile.

Damn, but I liked his smile. And his eyes. And his mouth. So, I kissed him. It was just a little one, a quick brush of skin to skin. I stared at him, wanting... wanting something, but wasn't fucking sure exactly what. Another kiss. To feel his arms wrapped around me again. To feel his mouth on my cock again. And as much as that thought hardened a certain member of my body, it wasn't filling that hole.

Of all the times in my life for it to happen, Quatre came to mind, and I heard his voice insisting that getting topped would instantly make my life better. If getting screwed were a prerequisite, I would think I wouldn't have a care in the world. But this man, he made me wonder.

"What's it like?" I asked finally. He looked confused for a moment. Guess our connection didn't have instant telepathy. "Being bottom." His expression cleared and it even looked like he was going to smile. I was pretty sure his answer wouldn't be anywhere close to what Greg's was.

"It's different for everybody." Oh thanks so much Doc. Your enlightenment floors me. "Duo, it's like being a top. It's different for everyone, with everyone."

I was nodding like I had a fucking clue. "You got that position on the mountain through nepotism, didn't you?" Bastard actually laughed.

"Look," he seemed to be thinking about it some more. "let's try this. I want you to kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me like you were a wanderer on the desert and I was an oasis."

Hell, yeah, I liked the way this guy explained things. I knew I was smiling, grinning like a fool, but I so could drink him up. I wet my lips and went to work. His mouth was mine, and I intended to explore every bit of it. Raising my hands to cup his head, I tilted it just so, giving me a better angle. The skin under my palms was warm, and his hair threaded its way between my fingers. I kept my eyes open, watching him, at least for the first few seconds. And then my tongue was in his mouth, sliding along the smooth row of his teeth.

My tongue touched the inside of his cheek, feeling how cool it seemed compared to heat of his tongue. Slick and wet, his mouth held hints of dinner, of the coffee he'd made, and of me. There was no war between us this time, and in freedom, I danced my tongue along his, teasing it with the tip. Pulling him closer, I sensed more than felt his hands land on my waist and I gave into a rocking of the hips, just enough to bush his. My eyes opened, and I saw he was still watching me. His hands hadn't moved.

Kissing him was different this time around - tame with no fighting for supremacy, and no wandering paws. And his tongue wasn't moving. And, shit, other than opening his goddamn mouth, he wasn't doing a damn thing. I pulled back and glared at him.

"When you're a top, even if you give it your best, it's no good if the bottom doesn't respond," was all the bastard said. I grunted. Stupid doctors and their stupid assed ways of explaining things. "Now, let's try this a different way. I'm going to kiss you. But," and here he grinned. "I don't want you to try and take control. Be indifferent if you can." Ah, fuck me but he threw down the gauntlet.

His lips brushed mine in a tentative touch and he retreated. His hands slid up from my waist, up along my chest and stopped at my neck, his fingers angled up into my hair with his thumbs resting just under my jaw. The blue in his eyes turned smoky, and his lids fluttered slightly. I think I resisted closing my own eyes for all of two seconds. And his tongue darted out and he outlined my lips in heated wetness. Instinctively, I opened my mouth seeking more and his tongue was gone.

My eyes slid open a crack and I saw his were closed. His face was coming closer, his head tilted and I closed my eyes and then his mouth met mine. The give in his lips made no difference when they parted, and the faintest rush of breath passed between us. His mouth closed slowly, his lips rubbed mine in softness sending a tingling vibration southward. I inhaled sharply, and the scent from the shower was heady in my nose. His mouth opened again, and his tongue touched where lip met teeth. Painfully slow, he dragged his tongue in outline of the inside of my lips.

Deep, and nearly lost in formation, a weak moan wandered into his mouth from mine. His tongue pulled back in deceptive slowness and his hands angled my head a little to the side. In a suddenness that forced another moan from me, his tongue was back. It seemed to fill my mouth with its presence and I was sucking on it without knowing why. When he drew his tongue away this time, its tip grazed the roof of my mouth, setting it to tingle.

Damn, but he was a fantastic kisser. His thumbs were stroking the undersides of my jaw in time with his tongue thrusts. And just when I thought I had his rhythm down, he'd raze the roof of my mouth again, making me throb in more places than my mouth. He kept alternating what he was doing, and repeated actions that brought those deep moans in response. When he finally stopped, I had to hold onto him to keep from toppling over.

"And that's what it's like to be bottom," he was whispering, practically panting into my hair. "At least to a considerate top."

I was so goddamn hard and stabbing his thigh, but he was giving it right back to me. I had an idea Heero was anything but inconsiderate. Not that he couldn't be, but in this, at least with me, he was going to be... perfect. That thought bothered me a little. Hadn't I been the one in search of a perfect bottom? And if I was supposed to bottom... fuck no. I took a half step back, still holding onto him, and him me, but far enough away I could watch him.

"Which do you prefer?" I demanded.

He was already shaking his head. "It depends on who I'm with." Oh. Yeah. I felt like he'd thwapped me upside the head. "I have no real preference, if that's any help." He'd closed the distance, and palmed my jaw. "I knew before we left the coffeehouse that if it came to it, some things would change. Even if only a little."

"Your questions about trading positions," I mumbled, closing my eyes. He kissed me again, with his lips pressing little nibbling kisses. Dinner must have settled spreading its calmness outward; maybe I would go back there after all. "Show me what a considerate top you are."

"Duo?" Heero stopped moving, became stiff in every way including the one I wanted him at. "This is what you want?"

"Yes." I didn't hesitate. I'd done my thinking, done the whole drama thing. It wasn't the beginning or the end of anything; just two guys getting together to please each other. And if more came of it, that'd be just great. Besides, I had a feeling if I flaked out, Heero would only roll over and let me do him. Losers weren't a part of this game. Not any more.

"We don't have to do this now." His lips were somewhere near my ear, his tongue cool and heated. "It can be tomorrow." His kiss, a feathery soft press to my neck making me shiver. "Or next week." My skin was razed in a sudden motion. "Or even next year." Flesh held between rows of teeth, sucked into his hot, moist mouth. My hips met his in an unconscious thrust; blood was rushing to parts south, evacuating my head like core meltdown was imminent. Volcanic eruption was a certainty if he kept that up.

"Now," I half muttered working the ties of his robe. "I want you now." His skin was golden warmth under my fingers and palms as I slid my hands through the folds of his opened robe. My cock was throbbing with a heat of its own, wanting to meet his, and I pulled his hips forward. He groaned into my shoulder, his fingers dug into flesh.

"Bed," he commanded, and I wasn't opposed. He took a deliberate step away, pulling me along but at arm's length.

Feet stomping in the bleacher seats over the dugout couldn't have been louder than the blood pounding in my ears. Faint voices shouted the chorus of Queen's song, and I'll be goddamned if I didn't want to be rocked. Covers flew back showing Heero did have plain, blue cotton sheets, and I grinned. He was a walking contradiction to all things common.

I didn't hesitate to slip the robe off, but paused when I caught Heero looking at me. His eyes were muted blue, his brows dipped low and his mouth no longer smiled. Dropping the robe, I reached for his. "I promise not to clobber you," I told him, guessing at what his concerned look was for.

A smiling mouth touched my lips. "Just tell me if something isn't right or you're feeling uncomfortable about anything." His robe hit the carpet, and he half turned, kneeling on the mattress. I waited until he was in the middle of the bed before following.

Firm but pliant under my hands and knees, the bed dipped only where pressure was applied. I watched Heero as I crawled towards him, liking that eager-dog look he was giving, loving the flush of his skin-tone, and couldn't wait to taste the fluid leaking from his cock. He was reaching for me long before I got close. And here I thought I was anxious.

His hands were warm, but his mouth warmer, and I was leaning into him, my hands on his smooth hairless chest. He tugged me closer; I had a quick sensation of falling and suddenly I half lay on him. I was aware of a hand clutching an upper thigh, pulling it up over to his other side and I slid on top without losing contact, without breaking the hottest fucking kiss yet.

It didn't even cross my mind where his cock was. Or how he'd raised his knees and how he'd began a slow rhythm, a gentle rocking of his pelvis. Riding his cock, letting it slide along the part in my ass, glide against my dick, we kept time with our tongues and our mouths and our hands. Under my fingertips, his heart pulsed with a strong beat that mirrored the one I heard thrumming in my own ears.

An insistent tug and we rolled. Heero now laid between my spread legs, the rocking rhythm he'd started, he continued. For a split second, I froze. He brought a hand up, brushed at a cheek and kissed the corner of my mouth. Barely panting beneath him, trying to catch my breath, I pushed down with my heels, pivoted my hips up, and laughed softly at his gasp.

"You like to tease?" he murmured, his mouth already on the move. As he teased down my neck and to my chest with faint touches from his lips, his hands holding mine prisoner, it crossed my mind why I hated the position I was in.

Bucking up with enough force to dislodge how he laid, I leveraged the slight gap I'd made and slid out from under him. Without breaking stride on planting his teasing, nipping kisses, Heero rolled on his side, and pulled me close. I wasn't laying on him as much as leaning against him. Much better. One last brush of lips to a spot above my left nipple, and he sat up on his knees.

"How would you like to do this?" he asked softly, his palm resting at the dip in my waist and his fingers lightly touching my back.

I leaned up on an elbow, watching him look at me. Through his palm, I could feel his body vibrating; he was holding himself back, and that power shot through me. He was batting the ball out of the park and didn't even know it yet. I felt the smile before I knew my lips were moving and he only raised an eyebrow. It hadn't slipped by me that he'd been the one pretty much piloting this flight.

"Condom? Lube?" I asked, knowing if needed, supplies were tucked into an inside pocket stashed in his hallway closet.

Bastard didn't even bat an eye. He laid on his back, and keeping his eyes on me, reached blindly with a hand for the night stand drawer. A few items were knocked to the floor, but he was successful and tossed a familiar purple bottle and a couple foil packets my way.

"Ribbed or extra thin," he commented with the barest twitch to his lips.

What the hell. I tossed the silver pack over my shoulder, keeping the red. Sitting up, I faced him without touching. He had called me a tease and I was about to show him that he ain't seen nothing yet. I eyed how he laid and motioned with my chin.

"Sit up against the headboard," I told him and had to smile when he arched an eyebrow. But he moved back, pulling a couple of pillows along for support. Once he was settled, I shifted over to sit on my knees next to him and picked up his hand.

"The name of game is control," I was telling him. "and the idea behind it," I put one of his fingers into my mouth, wetted it slightly and pulled it out, giving a last swipe of my tongue to its tip. Heero's cock twitched and jumped. You are so mine, buddy. "is to see who maintains control over their body." His lips spread into a smile as I repeated the same action with a second finger. The skin on his arm pimpled. Not unaffected after all, are we, Doc?

"The rules are simple," I sucked on a third finger briefly. "You cannot touch yourself, and can only touch me where I place your hands. I can touch you with only my mouth one place at a time, but not myself." Those fucking blue eyes of his lit up like Candlestick on a night game. He liked my game.

"Are there any other rules?" he asked, shifting slightly. His other hand laid about as far from his body as he could get it without being completely obvious.

There weren't any more, but damn, I wanted to add no talking to the list. If he were to catch on, I'd lose to my own horniness. Running a fingertip from his hipbone to just below his left nipple, I shook my head. I couldn't lie.

"Have we started yet?" The skin by his navel twitched, and I knew were I'd start.

I nodded again, grinning at the sudden disgruntled look. He wasn't fooling me; this game excited him on more levels. Giving him a wicked smile, I plunged all three of his fingers back into my mouth and worked them over with lips and tongue. And they weren't passive fingers either. Heero'd picked up on the game's nuance - anything goes to win.

In the course of my long and extensive love life, I'd played this particular game a few times. Usually it was to pass the time and prolong the sex. This was a game I was good at. I might appear impatient and demand instant results for whatever I did, but it was all about control and technique. And I had both, in spades. Doc was going down.

Even though I could tell he didn't want to, he couldn't help watching me suck on his fingers. "You know how to use your mouth," he said. "I'd like to watch it suck on something else." I fucking moaned. For a moment only, he looked startled and I watched as the surprise slipped into some more predatory. Damn it all to hell. I was going to lose.

Still holding his fingers in my mouth, I rose up on my knees and spread my legs wide enough. His eyes centered on my dick and I made it dance for him. The ripple that ran through him was visible and I chuckled. He was so going down. His hand clawed at the sheet as I positioned the one I'd been working on between my legs. "Use it," I told him, knowing he'd know what I meant. He nodded without saying anything, and the slick wetness of my own saliva slipped between cheeks.

Bending over carefully, I tried to block out what he was doing with his fingers. I placed a hand to either side of his body without touching, and flicked my tongue in a rapid circle around his navel. Its skin jumped and twitched. Yeah, this was going to be fun.

"Did you enjoy the shower, Duo?" he asked, and images flashed in my mind. "Your cock was so big in my mouth, slipping down my throat," I closed my eyes and pretended I wasn't hearing him. His skin was like cream beneath my tongue and I was the feline lapping it up.

His hips shifted; he was adjusting his position to better accommodate me. The considerate bastard. Lazily, I wrote my name over his abdomen, and flicked a glance up to see his reaction. His lips were parted and his eyes closed. He was fighting it. One thing I gotta hand to the doc, though, he didn't use what needed to be done against me. Unless otherwise indicated, a good top always made sure his bottom was ready. And doc was being thorough.

Since I was there and it was close, my mouth touched the head of his cock. Heero jumped and the shudder that wracked him made me moan. Oh fuck. Blowing him was going to be better than winning the Nationals. I licked at the fluid gathering and he shuddered again; a half suppressed moan from him sounded this time. It was going to be better than hitting a homerun in the World Series.

"Sucking you, feeling the size of your cock, I imagined how it'd feel plunging into my ass." I almost lost right there, my head dropped low enough to almost rest on his groin. "You taking me in the shower," his voice lowered suddenly, his breathing increased. He was turning himself on as well. "Pushing me up against the wall, with the water beating down on your back." Yeah, I could imagine that too.

I moved an arm carefully, and leaned closer, blowing over blood-flushed skin. "Your hands holding my hips, pulling them back with each thrust." Oh God. Just shoot me now. The wiry hairs tickled my nose, and the sweaty, musky smell of him invaded my nostrils I was so close to what I wanted. I licked at one of his balls. His cock rose and fell, the soft thump hung in the air. "Feel how tight I am around your cock? Hear me moaning your name?" I sucked the ball into my mouth and his cock rose again to wave in the air. Though science might disprove my theory, I believed men had pheromones of their own, and Heero was producing them in spades. Fuck I wanted him bad.

"In and out, you feel the come building up inside," his voice was nearly gone, and I could swear his fingers were going to rip holes in the sheet. I sucked the other ball into my mouth and worked them with my tongue. "I'm coming now. Shooting my load on the tile, coating it in threads of milky white." I drew in a ragged breath around his balls. Heero groaned and thrust upward. I knew it for an involuntary action; he was so close.

His fingers stopped moving in my ass, and I turned my face towards his, balls still in my mouth. He was watching me, biting a lip. Fuck but he was gorgeous. His balls fell with a wet sound, and a trail of spit linked my lip to him. "Heero?" I half whispered.

"I lose. Whatever you want," he mumbled. "Fuck me. Climb on, turn around... whatever. Just do something."

And here we were. I still wasn't sure how I wanted him, exactly. But he'd been doing a number on me, and something nudged the thought that I ain't seen nothing yet to the fore. Heero giving in like that, I knew I'd see it through. I rose to my knees, and he removed his hand. A shutter forced its way out, and I barely refrained from pulling his hand back.

"Like this," I told him, shifting closer. The position would be awkward, but we'd be facing each other, and I wouldn't get that trapped feeling from being under him.

Heero nodded, handing me the condom I'd set aside. In the past, I'd never made a big production out of rolling a rubber on my dick, but with him, it felt like the event needed a little pomp, a mini-ceremony of sorts. Ignoring the bottle he held out, I made a quick pass with my mouth; the flesh of his thigh trembled under my hand, and I wondered at his control. After all that, his cock smoothly sheathed itself as I rolled the condom down.

"Coat it," he instructed, forcing the purple container in my hand.

I shot a mock glare at him. Ha, as if I were a total virgin and had no idea what we where going to do. But I coated his rubber encased dick with enough lube that it pooled in the hair at its base. I figured it was my ass on the line, and I wasn't taking chances. Flipping the lid closed, I winked at him and tossed the bottle aside. His hand was on my thigh by my knee, a finger traced one of the longer scars from surgery. He was watching me, wondering if I was going to flake out on him, I'd bet. I gave him a short smile.

Looking at him just watch me, I wanted to believe in that connection he said he felt. In his eyes, I could see the concern overlaid with desire. I felt it in his skin, in the trembling muscles beneath. It was in the power he commanded, in the restraint he welded. He really did want whatever I was willing to give him. Be it what we had already, or something more.

Epiphanies happen when they happen, and given the fact Murphy was a friend of mine, a major one reached up and knocked me on my head. I was about to be fucked, and suddenly, it wasn't about the sex. It'd never been about the sex. Hallelujah, and all that shit. Quatre, and to a degree Lu, was entirely right. I had to give it up, not physically, but ...emotionally? I had to let someone get close enough to me to let them get close to me.

This man, this fucking gorgeous man spread out before me had shared a part of himself. I knew without his saying that he'd opened up his life as he'd never done before. I sure had and it wasn't because I thought of him as some kind of doctor, either. He was right. There was something more going on besides a healthy dose of mutual lust.

Heero shifted his legs and used a finger to swab at the gel running a path down the seam of his crotch. My eyes darted from watching what he was doing back to his face. He wore a faint smile, but it was warm and inviting. And it was all I needed. I leaned forward, hands flat to the mattress and kissed him in a lingering caress of lips.

"You didn't lose, by the way," I near whispered against his mouth. "I was so distracted, I forgot to place your other hand. And that's sort of cheating." I caught his laugh with another kiss even as I moved.

I was in his lap, his hands on me, one on a hip and the other, a palm flat against my back. Never had a second lasted an eternity as it did then. My vision narrowed to Heero's face; his eyes opened to an impossible width and his lips parted with a soft whoosh of breath. A roaring filled my ears, and though I felt the cry leave my mouth, I never heard its sound.

Strong thrusts, and rocking hips shook the bed. His sweat mingled with mine on our skin. My fingers clawed at his shoulders; his buried themselves into the fleshiness of my hips and butt. Smells mixed and hung thick in the air - the expensive Irish Spring wooded soap, AstroGlide, and Heero's musk, maybe it was my own. Using Heero's example kiss, the feel of him topping me was as a mouse to an elephant in difference.

He filled me.

The physical act of fucking brought cries from my throat, from his, and each sound triggered another vibrating thrum in my cock. Breathing became gulping breaths between the shouts. The pulse in my neck was almost painful; the wild beating of my heart was. A grayness crowded the edge of my sight, and I focused on his eyes. The blue forced away all other color and I was lost.

I threw back my head and cried out.

Heero's ceiling disappeared and suddenly I was laying on my back, weathered slat-boards rough against my summer browned skin. The wind as faint as it was, blew through the leaves overhead, rustling them softly. A hand sought mine, clasping it in friendship and love.

"Someday, little brother," Solo's voice was so clear. "We're gonna get out of here. Maybe get ourselves a jet or a rocket and go to outer-space." His dirty, sweaty boy smell was so strong, I could taste it. "One of these days, Luke, you're gonna fly. And ain't nobody going to keep you down."

The off-white, textured paint of Heero's bedroom flooded my view. I'd stopped moving, the bed stopped rocking, and Heero was stiff in his release, his hands holding me in place as his hips rose off the mattress in one last thrust upward. My body was vibrating, shivering and shuddering and somewhere inside, the longing to see those leaves fluttering the tree above our shelter away from home again, disappeared.

Yeah, Solo, you were right. I flew.

Heero's eyes were open and their impossible blue shrank to a more normal size. He was watching me, his look almost wary; his lips parted sucking in air. My toes were tingling, and a vein at my temple pulsed a slow beat. He wasn't the only one sucking air. His skin was flushed, hot under my fingers. Releasing my taloned hands from their clutch on his shoulders to slide them down over his chest, I marveled once more over its smoothness.

I didn't so much as collapse into him, as the attempted kiss I meant to give failed. At some point during our activity, he'd slipped down from his upright position, and now only the pillows behind his head and back kept him from being flat on the mattress. His chest was warm against my cheek and the frantic beating of his heart slowed gradually. The death grip on my hips was gone; a gentle scratching from blunted nails raked over my back in a steady pattern.

It was done. But it wasn't the fact my cherry had been good and popped that circled my mind. No, it had to be something as disassociated as, "how'd you get this?" I mumbled into his chest, a fingertip traced the slightest white line within my sight.

When Heero grunted, I felt his chest move and when he spoke, its rumbling vibrated in my ear. "During the eighty-nine quake. The building I was in collapsed."

"Oh." I was up north then, but remembered. The pocket fantasyland I'd been in slowly faded and reality crept like a runner stealing second. The more unpleasant aspects of being a bottom was making an appearance. I pushed up from his chest, muscles spasmed in the attempt to defy gravity. "Shit."

The bastard half smiled at my distress. A hand left my back, and he tilted us sideways for a moment as he reached for something on the night stand. "Here," he offered, a box of tissue in hand.

Carefully I slid off of him, and with his help, kept the condom where it belonged and the leaking minimal. Tissues flew from his hand in wadded up missiles and I watched him mop up the come smeared over his navel and abdomen. He even swiped over my belly. That was my second time coming on him and a part of my brain was planning how to make it a third.

He turned on his side, and we lay face to face, neither speaking. But that was okay with me. I wasn't sure what to say. Hell, I wasn't sure what I to think. Sensations clouded everything; the gentle press of his fingers on the skin at my waist. The hair of his leg catching on the hair on mine as he rubbed his between mine. The damp, musky smell of our come and sweat lurked in the narrow space between us. His breath was warm and steady against my cheek and he was watching me again.

"Are you..." he started to ask.

My brain still engaged in processing what I was feeling, I could only nod to the unfinished question. Nerves everywhere seemed to have come to life and were shouting for attention. Loose hair trapped under Heero's shoulder tugged on my scalp, making my head itch. Skin tissue below my left hip griped in protest at being handled the way it had. My cock was giving me its rendition of a sleepy cat napping in a patch of sun. And my ass, it tingled. It smarted a little. And it wanted more. That made me smile. Fuck yeah. I wasn't going to be anything like Greg.

I think I surprised him with the kiss I laid on him. Maybe he was expecting more of a punch to the jaw, but damn, all I wanted to do was show him how fine I was. And to give him back a taste of that tenderness he'd shown me. My lips were on his and he jerked away before settling against me. My arm circled his shoulder, pulling him to my chest and I threw a leg over his thigh, drawing him closer to me. I wanted to sink into him, have him meld into me - at least for the moment.

Somewhere on the floor, a phone rang. In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn't mine, but I broke apart from him anyway. He licked his lips and the phone rang again. We both looked toward the end of the bed and he started to move.

"That's mine, and usually means something's up at the gallery," he was saying sliding his feet off the mattress and onto the floor.

Moving more slowly, I slid off the bed and picked up my jeans. I figured I should probably check my messages as well. I hadn't since leaving Phoenix that morning and felt a little guilt creeping in. I was supposed to call Quatre after the session and let him know how it went.

"It's okay, Marci. I understand," Heero was telling someone.

My phone was telling me I had five messages. The first from Quatre, reminding me to stop by his place for dinner after my session. The second, Quatre again, changing the meeting place to the restaurant Trowa was chef in. I grinned into the phone and sat on the edge of the bed. Quatre was talking about some new dish Trowa was introducing and he had to be there. Listening to blondie ramble, I picked up a business card off the floor. The third message was from one of the coaches calling off practice in the morning, something about a rest day before the game on Sunday. I turned the card over in my fingers.

"Officer Landstrom?" the doc asked, bending over picking up wadded tissues. "This is Heero Yuy, owner and director of the gallery..."

The forth message played and a stranger's voice, impatient and harried, informed me he was Doctor Chang Wufei and would be unable to meet as planned but would I call on Monday to reschedule. My eyes were automatically reading the card I held - Heero Yuy, PhD, Structural Engineer. Fuck me. I almost dropped the phone.

A stranger just fucked me. I let a stranger fuck me. He put his dick in my ass and fucked me. The card crumpled in my fist and I glared up at the fucking bastard. He was still talking into the phone, something about an alarm system and new security company. But wait... Images, clear and sharp replayed. He had tried, had been telling me all night who he was and who he wasn't. I looked him over again.

Fuck. I rubbed my eyes with a knuckle, wishing I could wipe the twisted nightmare away. He was gorgeous, strong and tender. He wasn't a therapist, but had brought me something I felt certain only a handful of others ever could. But ...was it really a nightmare?

I wasn't a virgin any more; at least that had been accomplished. My ass was telling me it wanted more, and my cock was waking from its nap reminding me how fuckable it found that man. The hollow place inside me seemed less than it had been; I felt more content than I ever remembered being. Watching Heero pause in picking up another tissue, listening intently to whatever was being told to him, I could almost feel his arms as they'd been embracing me as he told me of his mother, as I told him of mine.

Fuck. A part of me was telling me to get the hell out of there. And part was telling me to pull my head out of my ass, because what was done, was done and if I walked out now, I'd be missing out on something wonderful. In my ear, the last message played and Trowa was saying how they'd missed me at dinner, hoped all was well, and to join him in the morning at the gym. I shook my head. He was still trying to set me up, the bastard.

Heero had closed his phone and knelt by my feet, picking up scattered bits of stuff knocked off the night stand. I watched him for a moment, trying to decide what the hell I was going to do. His hand closed over an ankle.

"Don't move. A container of tacks spilled open and I don't want you to step on one." His hand was warm on my foot, leaving it bereft when he moved it. Fuck. He didn't know me, but what I'd shown him in the past few hours. And yet...

"You never did introduce yourself," I was saying before I knew I was going to.

From his crouched position, he looked up, his fingers still plucking tacks off the carpet. "That's right, I didn't." He brushed a hand off on his thigh and held it out. "Heero Yuy." And he smiled. Fucking bastard.

I took his hand in mine, grasped it firmly but without challenge. "It has been my pleasure to meet you," I told him, humor winning over. Ah, man, but fuck it. Did it really matter? Did it fucking really matter after all? Watching him laugh, seeing it reflected in his eyes, and knowing I was going to be there in the morning sharing his bed, I guessed it didn't.

Closing my phone, I leaned back and enjoyed the view watching him finish cleaning up. The muscles playing under his skin, I named as each stood out, defined. His hair fell forward into his eyes and he tossed his head to push it back, only to have it drop forward again. Under an arm, I heard a slight crinkle and pulled up the second condom. Holding it between my fingers, I read the caption - ribbed for her pleasure. I shot a glance at Heero, and wondered how those little nobs of rubber felt sliding in. And if it did bring more pleasure or was that just some advertising gimmick.

He stood and tossed the tack container in a drawer. I was aware of him moving away, saying something over his shoulder as I put my phone on the night stand next to his. The condom I placed carefully on the corner, thinking it'd be used shortly. And then I stared at the wadded card in my palm. I thought again of Murphy, fate and destiny and could only laugh. The ifs of this day were stacked high, and if only one of them had happened, I wouldn't be where I was at this moment. I looked over at Heero again. Maybe Murphy wasn't such a bad friend after all.

Heero was bending over, straightening his slacks, preparing to put them on and I move close behind him. Hands on his hips, I bent over him and kissed the back of his neck.

"Where do you think you're going?" I nearly growled in his ear. Yeah, nap-time was over for a certain party and it was busy prodding parts of Heero now.

"There happens to be," he was saying looking over his shoulder at me. "a Greek pastry sitting on the counter in the kitchen I'd like to get personal with." He stepped into his pants and nudged me back with an elbow. He turned and with a sweeping glance up and down my body as he zipped up, he added with a twisted smile, "I think I'm going to need the energy."

Wait. Heero. Pastry. Custard filled.

I was wearing a goofy grin as he walked away. Oh yeah, we were going to get some more. I snagged my jeans up from the floor and heard the door open. "I'm still buying breakfast in the morning," I said loudly. From down the hall, Heero let out a grunt and I shoved myself into my jeans. "And make some coffee," I called out and smiled hearing a laugh trail back from the living room. Passing through the doorway, I had to laugh. Me and my fucking luck.

* * *


	8. Epilogue

Warnings and notes on the first chapter.

* * *

**Watch Me Spin**

**Epilogue**

Some years later, I was sitting in a midtown bar, and all this shit came back to me. It wasn't like I'd forgotten, but it wasn't something I remembered every day either. So there I was on some barstool, waiting on Quatre, remembering it all, and checking things out. The place was a new one for us, but at one time or another in the past we could have been there. Hell, nothing stayed the same for more than ten minutes in this place, let alone a bar or restaurant.

This tiny thing was belting out some bluesy song, and giving it all she had. Not too bad, and her back-up ensemble really moved it along nicely. Most of the customers were about my age and generally in pairs. A quartet of ladies sat at a corner table, and I could tell one was giving me the eye. What surprised me most was how young the wait staff seemed to be.

But by then, I'd been here sucking on a beer for over an hour and feeling pretty old. My knee was aching in such a way I knew I'd be laying on ice packs later. Heero'd cluck and chuckle and call me the old man. Bastard. He'd been doing that to me ever since he found out I was two fucking months older than he was. My ortho doc has been saying for the past couple of years that I'd probably need a replacement again. Every time he heard it, Heero would laugh and tell me one of these days my parts will be replaced and I'd be his new boyfriend.

And yeah, Heero and I have been together pretty much all this time. From the get-go, we'd become an instant couple, which sort of freaked me out a few weeks later when it actually hit me just what the fuck we were doing. Oh, there was this one time when we didn't speak for about six weeks or so. It was over something not worthy if looked at in the right perspective, but at the same time, to me it was the most sane option I had available. Heero had asked me to move in with him.

Giving it thought later, I realized I was already living with him. The majority of my clothes were in his closet and his dresser. My travel kit had a place in his hall closet. Everyone knew where to find me. Hell, I stopped buying milk because the stuff would become solid between visits home. All my plants had died too. So, I wasn't sure why I thought giving up my place was that big a deal. But I had. And shut Heero out as a result.

Heero, though, had only given me one of those looks he saved for special meanings, watched me pack and told me to give him a call when I found out what I wanted. It took me almost a month to stop heading to his place after work. I missed him like crazy, but refused to give in. Of course, by that time, he'd become a friend to my friends and I took to avoiding everyone because I didn't want to hear any lectures.

I finally called a couple of months after moving out. The Giants had just lost a night game, and the team, the fans and the coaching staff had taken it hard - mostly because it was a game we should have won. I needed someone to talk to, someone I didn't have to be strong for and Heero was that person for me. He had driven to the stadium to pick me up and we took a ride down the coast. I think we wound up in Monterey or Carmel -- one of those places like that. We parked in some vista lookout and watched the waves break against the rocks as the sun came up. Not as great as watching the sun go down, but it was something.

Later, after we returned to San Francisco, we got together quite a bit, more or less dating and just hanging out. It was like he'd said from the beginning - we had this connection, and there wasn't anything we couldn't work through. I moved in four months after he asked the first time, and sublet my place until the lease was up.

When the courthouse rush of oh-four happened, we were in line. I think we were the seventy-eighth couple, but I don't really remember. Quatre and Trowa were behind us in line, and we sort of stood up for one another - best men, witnesses and all. There are no words to describe having been a part of it all. It was great and the whole town partied for a week. Who the fuck cared if this free government was so closed minded it revoked all licenses issued for same sex marriages. We who went through with it knew. We stood up and put our names down and committed before God and everyone who we loved and were damned proud of it.

Beer almost gone, I ordered another with a water chaser. There wasn't much movement in the club, most folks seemed content to sit and drink, listen to music and speak in low voices. Me, I was eyeing a booth. Funny how a stool became damn uncomfortable after a short time. Sitting here was killing my lower back and wasn't helping my knee any either. But I had a clear shot at the door, and didn't want to miss Quatre's entrance.

Heero finally gave up on the old man who had raised him. This guy was his grandfather of sorts - the man who raised Heero's father. The old man wanted Heero to be an engineer and from the moment he got off the plane from Japan, the rest of Heero's life had been planned out for him. The need to question trained out of him early, it wasn't until he was in college and away from daily influence that Heero altered the plans. He became the engineer the old man wanted; he felt he owed him that much. But Heero also gained his art degree, and used money provided from his mother's family to open the gallery. The old man eventually gave in and let Heero be who Heero was. It made sense, since he was going to anyway.

A longhaired blonde at the end of the bar caught my eye and I was sharply reminded of Zechs. Different sex of course, but the hair was the same. After they met, Heero took to Noin and the two had a fantastic rapport. But for whatever reason, Zechs and him developed an almost adversarial attitude towards one another. Oh nothing anyone except those who knew them well would notice, and I had to admit, it was entertaining watching them play games. They tackled the challenge as though matching wit, skills and sometimes strengths would determine a life or death outcome.

My friends married the year I moved in with Heero, and had a little boy. Every once in awhile, I've been allowed to play uncle and tote the kid around with me. Heero said he wouldn't have anything to do with the 'devil spawn', but every time I brought the boy home with me, he'd be there and play games with us. Heero even joined us on a trip to the zoo, bought the kid a stuffed penguin even; I let him pretend.

I eventually met Doctor Chang. I started seeing him professionally, but not for sexual issues - Heero takes care of those. Turns out the guy wasn't just a sex specialist, he was a damn good psychologist, too. It took awhile though, to finally get around to telling him what'd been bugging me for a long time. Not that there was anything wrong with Chang, but I wouldn't have done with him what I did with Heero. I wouldn't have lasted a round in the coffee shop with him, let alone had dinner. As for letting him fuck me, well, that would have never happened, and had been a different story. Lets just say that Chang Wufei helped me with a couple problems I had besides sex and leave it at that.

Though Quatre won't let me forget otherwise.

And just how the fuck was I supposed to know that a sex therapist did not have sex with you to cure your problems? The way Quatre had made it sound that's exactly what a therapist did - like they were some diplomaed hooker. Okay, so I lived through that little embarrassment. And it worked to make Quatre laugh whenever he'd see Heero and me do more than stand six feet from each other. Bastard.

Introducing Heero to my two best friends had been one of the strangest things I'd ever done, and one of the hardest. It felt too much like bringing the proverbial girl home to meet Mom, and at the same time, I was almost giddy with wanting it all to work out. Of course I shouldn't have worried. Quatre made a friend out of most everyone, and didn't have to make an effort where Heero was concerned. As for Trowa, he and Heero had a good laugh. Turned out, Heero was the guy Trowa had been trying to set me up with. The bastard.

Call it fate or destiny or just fucking Murphy's luck, but I had to say, something or someone had at least wanted me to meet this man. Remember Heero mentioned some girl back in college? It seemed she lived out of the country, but called him out of the blue one day to ask him to escort her to her brother's wedding. Yeah, how fucking scary was that. Zechs' little sister and my guy had had a thing in college.

With all that stacked against me, there was no way I couldn't take the hint.

Though, a side effect developed from all this - I can't watch Heero eat Greek pastries. I'd say it'd be a sexual hang-up, but one I lived with most happily. There'd be nights I'd come home, smell the feta, and know what Heero had planned for us.

"Sorry I'm late," Quatre announced sliding onto the stool next to mine. The bartender was prompt and Quatre ordered. "I was waiting for a special delivery." He smiled one of those smiles that told me I might not like what he's about to say or do, but I'd laugh about it later.

I only grunted and stood up. "Let's grab a booth. My back's killing me." I left him paying for his drink as I tried to not hobble. The booth was farther away from the crooner than the barstool, but at least we had some privacy and I would be able to stretch my leg out.

"Were you trying to outrun the boys again, old man?" Quatre mused, tossing a brown envelope on the table. "Got you something that might take the sting out of your age." I glared at him, ignoring the gift.

"You're as old as I am, asshole."

"But I'm not the one who acts like he can still do the things he did at twenty. And rues the action later." Quatre sipped at his drink, gave it an appreciative look and took another sip. "Mixes a great cocktail."

"It's part of my job," I mumbled somewhere in there. A few years back, I'd switched to drinking the occasional beer and hadn't missed the stronger stuff.

Quatre only stared at me with this twisted lip thing that meant he knew but wasn't going to say anything more. After nearly twenty years of knowing a guy, you had to pick up on something. He knew nothing he said would make me not do what I thought necessary to do my job.

"You make Heero worry." Except that.

"Ah, Quatre," I touched his package. "So what is this?" It felt like a stack of papers.

He shook his head with another one of those patented smiles of his; he hadn't fallen for my dodge, but was going to give in for the moment. "Open it. It's what I was waiting on."

After pulling it from the envelope, I left it lying on the table just staring. I didn't know what to say, if I should say anything. Part of me felt like laughing instead and I caught Quatre's eye.

"Looks like your friend Greg's been a busy boy," was all he said, and took another drink.

All be fucked to hell and back, but damn, when I promised the man my first interview, I never expected it to grace the cover of SI. Getting over my picture being splashed on an international magazine was going to be hard. I flipped to the interview page and closed my eyes at the title. "He has a sense of humor," was the only thing I could force out.

"I thought it particularly apt," Quatre tossed out, all kinds of amused. "The write-up is good. I read it on the ride over." His hand touched mine and I looked at him. "He doesn't say it but he doesn't deny either. It's quite good, and you couldn't have asked for better. Since it is the first, it'll be hard for the others to follow."

I nodded and looked down at the headline again. Fucking Greg. Yeah, the two of us kept in contact over the years and his move from paper to paper. When he got a hold of me just after the press release at the end of last season, I gave him his interview. Heero knew all about the man, and in some ways found it funny as shit. Then again, I think he was just cocky enough to be proud of the fact he fucked me where Greg couldn't. But they got along. Hell, Heero got along better with Greg than I did, and I thought we were good friends.

Finishing off the last of my beer, I gave into the laughter. What better way to give tribute to Murphy than laugh at those things which can't be helped? Greg's headline was humorous. And Quatre was right - so apt. But even though less than a handful of people would know the meaning, who the hell wanted the world to know you as - The man who couldn't be topped.

I was fucked.

* * *


End file.
